
COPYRIGHT . 1889. BY HAROLD ROORBACK 

KoOVbact) S full &eSCrij)ti\)e ©atalOflUe of Dramas, Comedies, Comediettas, Farces, 
Tableaux-vivants, Guide-books, Novel Entertainments for Church, School and Parlor 
Exhibitions, etc., containing complete and explicit information, will be sent to any address 
on receipt of a stamp for return postage. Address as above. 



ROORBACHS AMERICAN EDITION. 



PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. 

This scries embraces the best of plays, suited to the present time. The reprints have 
been rigidly compared with the original acting copies, so that absolute purity of 
text and stage business is warranted. Each play is furnished with an introduction 
of the greatest value to the stage manager, containing the argument or synopsis of 
incidents, complete lists of properties and costumes, diagrams of the stage settings 
and practicable scene-plots, with the fullest stage directions. They are hand- 
somely printed fpm new electrotype plates, in readable type, on fine paper. 
Their complete introductions, textual accuracy, and mechanical excellence render 
these books far superior in every respect to all editions of acting plays hitherto 
published. 

i. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD. A comic drama in two acts. Six 
male, three female characters. Time, two hours. 

2. A SCRAP OF PAPER. A comic drama in three acts. Six male, six female 

..haracters. Time, two hours. 

3. MY LORD IN LIVERY. A farce in one act. Five male, three female charac- 

ters. Time, fifty minutes. 

4. CABMAN No. 93. A farce in one act. Two male, two female characters. 

Time, forty minutes. 

5. MILKY WHITE. A domestic drama in two acts. Four male, two female char 

acters. Time, one hour and three quarters. 

6. PARTNERS FOR LIFE. A comedy in three acts. Seven male, four female 

characters. Time, two hours. 

7. WOODCOCK'S LITTLE GAME. A comedy-faice in two. acts. Four male, 

four female characters. Time, one hour. 

8. HOW TO TAME YOUR MOTHER-IN-LAW. A farce in one act. Four 

male, two female characters. Time, thirty-five minutes. 

9. LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. A drama in two acts. Four male, three female 

characters. Time, one hour and a quarter. 

10. NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. A comedy in three acts. Six male, five female 
characters. Time, one hour and forty minutes. 

11. WHICH IS WHICH ? A comedietta in one act. Three male, three female 
characters. Time, fifty minutes. 

12. ICI ON PARLE FRAN£AIS. A farce in one act. \Three male, four female 
characters. Time, forty-five minutes. 

13. DAISY FARM. A drama in four acts. Ten male, four female characters. 

Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 

14. MARRIED LIFE. A comedy in three acts. Five male, five female characters. 

Time, two hours. 

15. A PRETTY PIECE OF BUSINESS. A comedietta in one act. Two male, 
three female characters. Time, fifty minutes. 

15. LEND ME FIVE SHILLINGS. A farce in one act. Five male, two female 
characters. Time, one hour. 

17. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.— Original Version. A drama in six acts. Fifteen 
male, seven female characters. Time, three hours. . 

18. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN.— New Version. A drama in five acts. Seven 
male, five female characters. Time, two hours and a quarter. 

19. LONDON ASSURANCE. A comedy in five acts.NTen male, three female 
characters. Time, two hours and three quarters. 

20. ATCHI ! A comedietta in one act. Three male, two female characters. Time, 
forty minutes. 

21. WHO IS WHO ? A farce in one act. Three male, two female characters. 
Time, forty miflutes. C^ 

22. THE WOVEN WEB. A drama in four acts. Seven male, three female char- 
acters. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 

%W*Anj> of Ulc above will be sent by inait. post-paid, to ■awy address, on receipt 
of the price. . X. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murray St., New York. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL 



AN ORIGINAL COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 



WYBERT REEVE 



New American Edition Correctly Reprinted from the Ori 
ginal Authorized Acting Edition, with the Original 
Casts of the Characters, Synopsis of Incidents, 
Time of Representation, Description of the 
Costumes, Scene and Property Plots, Dia- 
grams of the Stage Settings, Sides of 
Entrance and Exit, Relative Posi- 
tions of the Performers, Expla- 
nations of the Stage Direc- 
tions, ETC., AND ALL OF 
the Stage Business. 



Copyright, 1889, by Harold Roorbach 





NEW YORK 

HAROLD ROORBACH 

PUBLISHER 






V- 



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iz-wtf 







NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 



Performed at the Royal Charing Cross Theatre, London, {under the 
Management of Miss Fowler), Sattirday, January 8th, /8yo. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

^M^chmon? 117 ! A newly married man ■ } Mr - w y bert Reeve - 

Lieutenant Worthington (a bachelor) . . . Mr. Phipps. 

~ -r, f Blunt by nature, and an old ) ,» -p, , . 

Dr. Brunt ■< r i . J VMr. Flockton. 

\ married man. j 

Captain Poppet (a man of few words) . . . Mr. Temple. 

Smart {a London tiger) Mr. F. Robson. 

T ,., f Gardener and assistant foot-} »» r> • , c , j 

James Banks 1 J \ Mr. Bnnsley Sheridan. 

J y man J ' 

Mrs. Herbert (A young wife, afflicted with \ Misg F j 

Marchmont \ ennui / 

Mrs. Dr. Brunt (" a great creature ") . . . Mrs. St. Henry 
Mrs. Captain Poppet, (a lady rather snubbed) Miss Maxe. 
Miss Clara Smea ton {spinster) Miss Towers. 

Sally Maybud { A ^^^^^ W ^ V }Miss Harriet Coveney. 

TIME OF PERFORMANCE: ONE HOUR AND FORTY MINUTES. 

Costumes — Modern. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Captain Herbert Marchmont, formerly one of the gayest young fel- 
lows in town, having married and settled down in the country, finds himself 
decidedly a victim of petticoat government. His wife affects languor and 
delicate health, and keeps him in close seclusion from his former friends, 
lest they may lead him astray. It happens that a party of these friends visit- 
ing at a neighboring estate, has discovered the Captain's retreat with a 
suspicion of his true position. Just after he has been wheedled into taking 
the dog and the baby out for an airing, two of these friends, Lieut. 
Worthington and Dr. Brunt, enter unannounced, greet the Captain 
heartily, inquire after his wife, and manage to secure a hint of his domestic 
relations, though the Captain stoutly maintains his independence of the 



4 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

apron string. Mrs. Marchmont then appears, turns a very cold shoul- 
der to the visitors, and commands the Captain to follow her instantly and 
attend to his family duties. Torn between his wife's repeated summons and 
his friends' evident enjoyment of his discomfiture, the dashing Captain is 
constrained to obey the imperative commands of his better half, though 
emphatically asserting the stern obstinacy of his disposition in matters con- 
nubial when alone in the bosom of his family. Brunt and Worthing- 
TON now determine to shame the Captain out of his weak subjection and 
put a stop to his wife's making a fool of him. They, accordingly, bring 
his other friends to the house, arriving in time to see the gallant Captain 
emerge, laden with dog and toys, blowing a child's trumpet and wheeling 
his infant's perambulator — the situation provoking extreme mirth on one 
side and deep chagrin on the other. 

In pursuance of their plan to cure the Captain, his friends send him 
an invitation, with the positive threat, unless he responds within a half 
hour, to storm his fortress again. At the end of a conjugal scene in which 
Mrs. Marchmont consents, unwillingly, to receive her husband's former 
friends, the latter arrive, are presented to her and invited to dine. At 
dinner, Dr. Brunt intentionally passes the bottle very freely, with a view 
to getting Marchmont somewhat overcome, so that he may forget or 
ignore his wife's strict discipline in a measure. On the return of the 
ladies to the drawing-room, Mrs. Marchmont boastfully relates to her 
lady visitors how she has cured her lord of all his ante-nuptial irregularities, 
and keeps him in subjection ; but in the midst of her recital, the Captain 
appears, at the head of his male guests, half intoxicated and wholly 
defiant of his wife's supremacy, to the latter's amazement and the visitors' 
unconcealed delight. 

The dinner episode, however, proves only partly successful, since the 
Captain is obliged to do domestic penance for it, though he has begun to 
rebel. His friends, fearing that Mrs. Marchmont may destroy her own 
and her husband's happiness by pursuing her present course, arrange that 
the Captain and his servants must pretend sudden and violent illness, tak- 
ing the gardener and maid into their confidence. Marchmont, being 
really fond of his wife, gladly enters the plot, and simulates extreme pros- 
tration. The servants becoming equally incapaciated, Mrs. Marchmont 
is thrown upon her own resources and forced to stir about at last, and min- 
ister to her husband's pretended wants. Under the pressure of necessity, 
she discards her ennui and laziness, makes the Captain comfortable 
and actually cooks a chop for him. In the midst of general applause at 
her success, she discovers the plot laid against her, but perceives the jus- 
tice of the situation and assures her husband that it is not too late to prove 
that she can be a wife worthy of the name. Amid general congratulations, 
the Captain declares that, no matter what may befal now, his wife, as wife, 
will prove Not So Bad After All. 

PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Two cabbages for James. Gun, pipe, tobacco and matches 
for Marchmont. Smelling-bottle for Sally. Letter for Smart. A 
small dog, child's tin trumpet, assortment of toys and baby's perambu- 
lator. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 



5 



Act II. — Furniture as per scene-plot. Writing materials and bell on table 
up L. Shawl on chair. Chessmen on table up R. Bell off stage, l. Bot- 
tle on tray, and coin for James. Letter for Smart. Smelling-bottle and 
fan for Mrs. Marchmont. 

Act III. — Fan, scent-bottle, shawl and books for Sally to bring on. 
Handkerchief, glass of water, grid-iron, chop on plate, tray, tablecloth and 
table appointments for Mrs. Marchmont. Two banknotes for Brunt. 
Bandage and nightcap for James. Head bandage for Sally. Powder 
and puff for Marchmont. Crash off stage, l. 

STAGE SETTINGS. 
Act I. 



Landscape Backing. 
Fence. „ . reru 



FlowerBedTl 



Gate. 




i riowerBedl 



Chair. 






t 



Interior 
B«cki M 

Set 
House 

% x WindoMt 



Acts II. and III. 



Garden Backing. 

Interior Drop J ^ | Int erior Drop 

Door p. ' Door' 



^FirePla. 



Door 



Tables § CKairs 



® 



\ 



Ottt 



Chair 



ogr 



SCENE PLOT. 

Act I. — Garden in 4 G, backed with landscape drop in 5 g. Fence in 
4 g, running across the stage, with a gate, c. Flower beds each side of gate. 
Tree wings in I, 2 and 3 c, R. Chair l. C. Garden seats up R. and down 
l. Tree R., with seat in front of it. Set house l., running back to 4 G., 



6 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

with window facing the audience and entrance in the return piece. Inte- 
rior backing in 40., behind house. Grass cloth down. 

Acts II. and III. — Parlor set in 3 g., backed with garden drop in 4 G. 
French window, C. Doors (with interior backings) R. C. and L. C. in flat. 
Fire place r. 3 E. Doors r. i e. and l. 2 e. Sofa down R. Ottoman and 
chair down L. Chess-table and two chairs up R. Table and two chairs up l. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

The player is supposed to face the audience, r., means right; L., left; 
C, centre; R. C, right of centre ; L. a, left of centre; D. F., door in the 
flat or scene running across the back of the stage ; r. f., right side of the 
flat; L. F., left side of the flat; R. D., right door; l. d., left door; I e., first 
entrance; 2 e., second entrance; U. E., upper entrance; I, 2 or 3 g., first, 
second or third grooves; Up Stage, toward the back; Down Stage, 
towards the footlights. 

R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

Note. — The text of this play is correctly reprinted from the original 
authorized acting edition, without change. The introductory matter has 
been carefully prepared by an expert, and is the only part of this book pro- 
tected by copyright. 





NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 



ACT I. 



Scene. — Exterior and garden of Captain Herbert' s villa. House 
set L. , window facing audience, door in return-piece and interior 
backing. Verandah with creepers trailing over it ; statues and 
flowers about scene; tree R. with seat under it; terrace or railings, 
gate C. Back drop, a pretty rural landscape. Garden chair, L., 
and one up stage, R. 

Enter Sally Maybud, through window singing, speaks as she 

gathers flowers and arranges them into a nosegay. 

Sally. What a lovely morning it is, to be sure ; and how sweet 
the flowers smell — as my rural sweetheart, James Banks, would 
say "it's quite hodoriferous." I really ain't got patience with 
missus — she seldom gets up until the middle of the day, and when 
she does, why lawks-a-daisy-me, if she ain't too lazy to feed her- 
self. If I was only her husband for half-an-hour, I'd let her 

know "what's what" as the saying is {sitting down L. c, 

making a nosegay and singing : ) 

" To the fields, I carry my milking pail 
On a Mayday morning early," &c. 



Enter Smart, r. u. e. 



Smart, (aside) How she warbles, she shames the nightingale ! 

Sally. Master is a good, kind, soft-hearted gentleman ! he 
waits on her like a child — it's " Herbert this," and " Herbert 
that ;" talk about not calling his " soul his own " — he dares not 
say his head is his own, unless she gives him permission. If I was 
a man, and had such a wife, oh, I'd be — I'd be — an out-and- 
outer, that I would, (singing again) 

Smart, (advancing, having heard latter part of speech) I have 
the honor to inform you, you are an out-and-outer (she jump s tip 



8 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

on hearing his voice, and looks confused) by many degrees the most 
splendiferous out-and-outer, my optics have met with, —sweet daf- 
fodil of the early morning ! 

Sally. Oh, sir, don't, you take one's breath away ! I feel quite 
flustered [aside) really a very nice young man ! 

Smart, [both bow extravagantly) Did it fluster the timid fawn ? 
[aside) really a very nice young woman ! I shall make myself 
agreeable in this quarter. 

Sally. Might I ask, the object of your business here ? 

Smart. You are the object, and sich an object is not seen every 
day. 

Sally. Oh, sir, as I said before, don't ! [bowing repeated) 

Smart. Don't in a lady's case, always means do! [sings) " Meet 
me by moonlight alone," &c. 

Sally. Certainly not, young man, such going's on for a spinster, 
ain't at all right and proper, [sits L.) 

Smart. All things is proper, to proper people — the world would 
not be half so indelicate, were it not for the natural indelicacy 
of our imaginations, [lakes chair and sits across it) After which 
piece of philosophy, let us first proceed to business, then we can 
make love after. Your name, fair Zephyr, is Cleopatra Angelica — 

Sally. No it is not ; it is Sally, if you please, sir. 

Smart, [aside) " Sally if you please, sir," what a sinking in 
poetry; [aloud) but the "Sally" don't please me, my dear — it's 
decidedly vulgar — and pray, what is the continuation of your 
abbreviated, sponsorial, indefinite harticle. 

Sally. My other name is " Maybud." 

Smart. Better, decidedly better ! " Maybud" is good ! "May" 
the birth of flowers, " Bud" the flowery birth — subtract the "Sally" 
and leave the " Maybud," then it's delicious ! What is your mas- 
ter's, or I should say, your governor's name ? 

Sally. Captain Herbert Marchmont. 

Smart. The very man ! You have a mistress — a young 'un? 

Sally. Yes, twelve months old. 

Smart. Twelve months ! why, then she must have been a mar- 
ried woman, before she was born, and can't have cut her teeth 
yet. 

Sally. Oh, I beg parding ; you said "young 'un" — I thought 
you meant the baby. 

Smart. No, I was not alludin 5 to the felicitous hoff-spring of 
domestic connuberality ; I was meaning your mistress is a young 
woman, Miss Maybud, and I wish to know, looking on the gover- 
nor and governess, with the eyes of a lady's maid 

Sally. My eyes are a maid of-all-work's at present. I do all 
sorts of duties, but I hopes to rise. 

Smart, [aside) Like dough without yeast — like a bud without a 
stalk, she only hopes to rise — poor thing ! Nothing beneath a 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 9 

lady's maid, finds a corner in the lining under my waistcoat. 
[aloud) Well, with the eyes of an "all sorts," what is your 
opinion of the upper crust in this house? [they rise) 

Sally. You mean the family ? As for the master, he is a real, 
good-looking, nice gentleman, but missus makes a complete fool 
of him ; he follows her about like a spaniel, and never is allowed 
to have his own way. 

Smart. Goodness gracious me ! What a pity to see human 
masculine manhood, so sunk beneath its spear. 

Sally. She is dreadful lazy too, and has always got something 
the matter with her ; the physic comes in by the gallon, pills by 
the bushel, and novels by the cartload. Some folks call her 
pretty, but people's tastes differ — I've seen ladies much prettier. 

Smart. When you looked in the glass, of course, [bowing 
repeated ) We understand — we London swells know, the surest way 
to set two women by the ears — is to pretend love to both at the 
same time and swear each, to the other, has the prettiest face we 
ever seed. However, as I said before, to business ! You must 
know my gentleman, is a friend of your gentleman's — he and some 
acquaintances, are now staying at Squire Beech's, Oak Hall, 
about a mile from here, and they have sent me over to make 
inquiries, as they are determined to rout him out. 

Enter James Banks, at back, L. u. e. — dressed as a gardener, a 
large cabbage in his hand; he stands at back, looking with 
surprise. 

[continues speaking) You most not mention having seen me, then ; 
some other time, [singing) "Thoul't meet me in the garding, 
Sally," &c, [going up, meets James at back) Ha, ha, ha! good- 
day, Chawbacon ! [struts out, R. u. E.) 

Banks. I'll "Chawbacon" thee nob with this cabbage ! Take 
that, Mr. Jack O' Dandy ! [throws it after him) There goes two- 
pence of master's money, and all through you. [advancing) You 
young wagabone — you ought to know better, than to be a bowing, 
and a ducking to a dandy chap like that, for all the world like a 
Cochin China with the spasms. 

Sally. That was London perliteness, James. 

Banks. Was it? Then, ecod, throwing that cabbage at his head 
were country politeness. What did he want here, chirruping about 
your meeting him in the garding ? 

Sally. It was a song, you stupid. That gentleman's gentleman 
is an old friend of the captain's — he came to inquire if he lived 
here. 

Banks. Did he ? We don't want any of them sort o' folks, I can 
tell 'ee. This Lunnon life, as they calls it, first turned our missus's 
head. She were a nice lass till she went there, and took it into 
her noddle, it wer fashionable to be ill and do nought. If you 
want me for a husband, lass, thee mun be useful. 



10 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Sally, [indignantly) Me your wife ? Well I like that ! 

Banks. Of course Ynee does! Where is the lass that wouldn't, I 
should like to know? Now don't turn up thee nose — it be a 
winkin' at the moon already. Thou'rt not every man's cattle, I 
can tell 'ee. 

Sally. I am no man's cattle yet, thank goodness. 

Banks. No, but, like the rest o' the lasses, yer living in hopes ; 
and if thee can't get corn, theel't be glad enough to put up with 
grass and stubble when the time comes. I'll go and get another 
cabbage, for cook is waitin'. Think o' what I said, wench, — 
when I marry thee, it'll be for charity : ecod, but it will, though. 

(exit, L. u. E.) 

Sally. What a rude bear he is, to talk such nonsense : Ah ! 
{sighing) The difference between him and that smart young Lon- 
don gentleman in the top boots! Oh, those top boots ! I'll wear 
their image next my heart. 

Enter Mrs MarCHMONT, very languidly ; from house, L. 

Mrs. M. {calling) Sally, Sally ! (Sally goes to her) Lead me to 
a seat, will you? I really am so weak I can hardly move. (Sally 
does so — Mrs. MarCHMONT crosses, and sits R., on seat near tree) 
How oppressive the sun is ; why does it shine so? 

Sally. Don't know, mam, except because it's its nature. 

Mrs. M. Do not answer so pertly. What would 1 not give to be 
a strong healthy girl like you ! [looking at her) I don't know, 
though, it would hardly be worth while ; there is nothing roman- 
tic about you, you have such vulgar red cheeks. 

Sally. Well, mam, I don't paint them ; air and exercise does 
that. 

Mrs. M. Air and exercise, indeed ! You are talking nonsense ! 
I walked twice round the garden yesterday, and it did not raise 
a blush on mine — not that I wish for vulgar cheeks. 

Sally. Why, mam, there is not arose that blows, that mine have 
not been compared to ! 

Mrs. M. Very likely, men generally talk in that stupid way 
before marriage. 

Sally. You don't call the rose vulgar, mam ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, I do ; it is often objectionably large, and coarse — 
I prefer a lily complexion. 

Sally. Saving your presence, I prefer nature, and think that is 
prettiest which remains as Nature made it. 

Mrs. M. How dare you chatter so ! When once your tongue is 
set in motion there is no stopping it. Pluck me some flowers. 
(Sally gives the bouquet she has made) The scent may revive me. 
Where is your master? 

Sally. He went out shooting about eight o'clock, and has not 
yet returned. 

Mrs. M. Eight o'clock, indeed! Disturbing one's rest in the 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. II 

middle of the night like that ! He might have more consideration 
for my health. 

Sally. He tried to be very quiet, and said he hadn't disturbed 
you. 

Mrs. M. Not disturb me ! not disturb me ! when I remember 
distinctly moving, about that time. 

March, {heard without) Here, James, you rascal, come and take 
my gunl 

Enter Captain Herbert Marchmont, singing, r. u. e.; places 

his gun against the house. 

Ah, Florence, darling, delighted to see you breathing the fresh 
air. [taking her hand) 

Mrs. M. [taking it away) My dear, do not touch me with your 
cold hand, it sends a chill through me. You always forget. 

March. I beg your pardon ; the forgetfulness was occasioned by 
the pleasure of seeing you. 

Mrs. M. That is all very well ; you are getting a very careless 
boy — the idea of going out shooting when your wife was suffering! 

March. My love, you were sleeping. 

Mrs. M. As if that makes any difference? You know I always 
suffer, even when I am sleeping — besides which, it is so unpleas- 
ant to be left to the care of menials. Sally, go and get my smell- 
ing-bottle. 

Sally. Menials, indeed ! if I was only a man, oh, wouldn't I — 
wouldn't I — yes, that I would ! (exit into house, L. 

March, [gathering a flower) Here, Florence,' is the sweetest smell- 
ing bottle, in the fresh, balmy morning air. [taking out pipe) And 
upon my life, I think this is the next. 

Mrs. M. Herbert, how can you smoke that nasty pipe ? 

March. Nasty ! why it's a beauty ! Look at the color of it, no 
end of trouble to bring it to this state of perfection. If anything 
happens to you, my pipe will be my only consolation, [forgetting 
himself) 

Mrs. M. [quickly) What, would you forget me for that ? 

March. No, dear ; it would make me think of you, as I watched 
the smoke ascending up to heaven, it would remind me of the way 
1 knew your spirit had taken 

Mrs. M. [sentimentally) That is a very poetical idea, Herbert. 

March. Very, I thought it was when I said it 

Mrs. M. Come and sit by me, I want to talk to you. 

March, [lolling on ground near her) Proceed, my darling. 

Mrs. M. I have heard there are some visitors at! Oak Hall, 
I trust they are not any of your former friends, and they will not 
intrude upon our privacy. 

March. I hope not, my dear, [aside) I only hope they may. 



12 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Mrs. M. They might lead you astray again, men are such terri- 
ble creatures, they are never to be trusted. 

March, Not trusted ! Diogenes in his water-butt never was such 
a nonpareil as I am ; in fact, I intend packing myself up in a glass 
case, and sending myself to the next great National Exhibition, 
labelled " Greatest Sensation of the Age, A Tamed Husband." 
You, my dear, must sell the prescription to all married ladies in 
want of the knowledge, you will soon make a fortune by the spec- 
ulation ! 

Mrs. M. How absurdly you talk, {coughing) Oh, that horrid 
pipe. 

March. The last trait of the wild animal left, and you would 
destroy it. Let me smoke the calumet of peace. 

Mrs. M. [coughing) It's choking me, Herbert ! [coughing) Oh ! 
It will kill me, I know it will, [coughing) 

March, [jumping up) Is it, my dear ? Sally, bring the smelling- 
bottle — don't choke, my love — my pipe is henceforth put out. 

Mrs. M. [recovering instantly) Is it ?— then I am better now. 

Enter Sally from house, with small phial. 

Sally. You did not tell me which mam, so I have brought this. 
{giving it) 

Mrs. M. [taking it without observing, and smelling — coughs vio- 
lently) Oh, you horrid girl — you have brought me your master's 
tooth mixture. 

Sally, [aside and taking it) I knew it was. [aloud) Lor mam, so 
it is; [smelling it and making grimace) it does smell nasty, I must 
confess. I beg pardon, [aside) Menial, indeed. I'll bring her 
the pepper-cruet next time. (exit into house, l. 

Mrs. M. That is all your fault, Herbert. 

March. Yes, dear, no doubt about that. 

Mrs. M. It's very wrong of you. Why do you have the tooth- 
ache? 

March. Certainly not because I like it. I'll sell it a bargain to 
the lowest bidder. 

Mrs. M. [calling and crossing, L.) Sally, Sally ! 

Sally enters, Herbert sits r. 

Have you seen Zelinda? 
Sally. No, mam. 
Mrs. M. Call James. 
Sally. James, James ; here, missus wants you. 

James Banks, enters L. u. e., a second cabbage in his hand. 

Mrs. M. Where is my beautiful Zelinda, James ? 
Banks. She be a picking her bones, ma'am. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 1 3 

Mrs. M. You should not allow her to eat such food. 

Banks. She rather seem'd to like it, and she never axed my 
leave. 

Mrs. M. Go and bring her to me instantly. 

Banks. No, mam, you'll excuse me, dogs is dangerous when 
they've got a bone ; besides, your father never brought I up to be 
nursemaid to a poodle. (exit into house, L. 

Mrs. M. {stamping her foot) Go directly, and bring her Sally. 
(Sally exit, l. u. e.) What an obstinate, vulgar, uncultivated 
creature James is. 

March. Yes, dear ; I wonder you have not managed to tame 
him. Thank the Fates, I had nothing to do with his education. 

Mrs. M. Little Marie Constance must go out in her new peram- 
bulator this morning, it will do her good. 

March. I quite agree with you, let Sally give her a run. 

Mrs. M. What Herbert, trust our child with that careless girl ! 
(Sally brings on dog, gives it to Mrs. Marchmont, and exit into 
house again) where are your feelings, you have not the feelings of 
a father — no, he hasn't — has he my pet ? [caressing dog) 

March. The dog will agree with you, I dare say ; if Sally is not 
to take her out — who the deuce is to ? [rising) 

Mrs. M. Who Herbert ? why, of course, you. 

March. Me ! No, no, hang it ; I object to being made a nurse- 
maid of — the idea of a Captain of Dragoons wheeling a perambu- 
lator ! 

Mrs M. And why not ? it would be well if all Captains of Dra- 
goons had as innocent, and harmless an employment to occupy 
their time. 

March. That is a good out-look for the British army ! it would 
be keeping them under arms with a vengeanee — why did you turn 
nurse away yesterday ? 

Mrs. M. Because she was lazy, and you know how I dislike lazy 
people ; all she had to do was to attend to that darling child — and 
because the poor little sufferer is teething, and kept her awake for 
two or three nights, she positively got quite cross. 

March, [imitating her manner) Did she indeed, what a barbarous 
creature — so unreasonable 

Mrs. M. Was it not, dear ? so you will take Marie Constance a 
little way, won't you ? [caressingly.) 

March. No, no ; I cannot do'that, I'm firm as granite. 

Mrs. M. What, not when your wife asks you ? 

March. No, I am marble, [sitting R.) 

Mrs. M. [patting his cheeks) Not to please his poor little wife? 

March. No, I'm flint. 

Mrs. M. [kissing him) Yes he will, I know he will, a naughty 
boy ! 



14 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

March, {giving way) I suppose I must, {rising and aside) Con- 
found it, I am only pumice stone after all. 

Mrs. M. There's a dear kind hubby, here take care of Zelinda 
[putting the dog into his arms) she must go with you to amuse 
baby — and, as you are so good I'll have baby's new pelisse put 
on that she may be a credit to her papa. (Exit into house. 

March. Do dear, I'm sure her precious papa will feel proud of 
her, and her new pelisse. A Dragoon under arms, a dog and a 
baby ! I really am a donkey to submit to it. How some of my 
old friends would laugh, were they to see me — but she has such a 
deuced coaxing way with her ; it is all very well talking — but no 
fellow knows how great a fool a pretty woman can make of him 
until he has been tried. Talk of the lords of creation, we are only 
knights of the petticoats after all ! I certainly wish my wife would 
practice a little more of her winning manners on the servants. 

Enter Lieutenant Worthington, and Dr. Brunt, r. u. e. 

It is astonishing the number of changes in this house, Sally and 
James, they are the only fixtures — and the privilege of long 
service gives them more their own way than I get myself. 
(Lieut. Worthington and Dr. Brunt have advanced r. and l.) 

Worth, (r. striking him on shoulder) Ah, my gay old friend — 
how are you ? 

Brunt, (l. striking him on shoulder) Well, my dashing young 
spark, how d'ye do? 

March, [confused) The devil ! what is to be done now ? [aloud) 
how are you both? I'm deuced glad to see you. 

Brunt. You are ? then put down that mongrel, and let us have a 
hearty shake of the hand. 

Worth. To be sure, if amongst other wonders, you are not 
transformed from a Captain of Dragoons into a nurser of lapdogs. 

March. Confound the animal ! Here, Sally, Sally ! 

Enter Sally, from house, l. 

Sally, [aside) Good gracious! strange gentleman here, I do 
declare — it does a poor girl's eye-sight good. 

March. Here take the dog. [she does so, and exit, L.) Now then, 
for a hearty shake of the hand— how did you find me out ? 

Worth. Perseverance seldom fails — once on the scent we ran 
you to cover. 

Brunt. How is your wife, my boy ? 

Worth. Yes, how's your wife ? we long to make her acquaint- 
ance ; there is a party of us at Squire Beech's ; we ran over to 
invite you both — feeling certain on our parts of a hearty welcome. 

March. Of course, of course, old friends like you— [aside) I wish 
they were up to their necks in a horsepond, what the deuce will 
my wife say ? 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. I 5 

Worth. Where have you been hiding ? and what made you turn 
Benedict ? 

March. I outran the constable, and was obliged to sell out — mar- 
riage was the only resource, for my old governor cut off the sup- 
plies. I met with my present wife, the daughter of a rich manu- 
facturer in the neighborhood, proposed, was accepted, thrust my 
head into the noose, pulled the string — and here I am. 

Brunt. And how is your wife ? Second time of asking. 

March. She is not very well. 

Brunt. Got the measles, or the mumps ? What is the matter ? 

March. I cannot exactly say. 

Brunt. That is bad — I must have a look at her. 

March. She suffers from the nerves. 

Brunt. Nerves — oh, oh ! she is a nervous patient — I thought so 
— you indulge her, and let her have her own way too much, that is 
the secret. Give her plenty to eat, but make her earn it first, that 
is a certain cure for the nerves. Introduce us. 

March. Another time, my dear fellows — delighted to see you, but 
another time. 

Worth. No time like the present. 

March. The fact is, she is not at home. 

Enter James, quickly from house, L. 

James. Missus says 

March. Confound you, get out ! 

James. I must deliver my message first, sir. Missus says she 
hopes you ain't let Zelinda go, for the baby be nearly ready for 
you to take it out for a airing. (Brunt and Worthington both 
laugh) And missus says 

March, [pushing him into house, L.) Go to the devil ! 

Brunt, [laughing') So, so ; " the baby be nearly ready." 

Worth, [laughing) Do you feed it, my gallant captain, with the 
pap-spoon ? 

March. Hang it, don't laugh, it is a mistake of that dunder- 
headed fellow. / take the baby out ! What an idea ! 

Brunt. A mistake is it ? But there is no mistake about your 
reception being a very odd one after not meeting for so long a time. 

March. To tell you the truth my wife is afraid of you fellows, she 
thinks you'll lead me astray. 

Enter Mrs. Marchmont /w« house, L., she stands listening. 

Worth. Ha, ha, ha ! lead you astray — the gayest fellow on town. 

Brunt. The wildest rake — and a deuce of a favorite with the 
ladies! (Mrs. Marchmont screams, and is falling, Marchmont 
catches her) 

March. My wife — you have played the deuce with me — talking 
of the ladies, see what you have done — she is fainting. 



\6 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Brunt. A little cold water thrown over the lady might revive 
her. 

Mrs. M. {instantly recovering) Cold water, the barbarians ! they 
would not only be the death of me, but they would spoil my dress. 
These are your old companions, are they? Gentlemen, your most 
obedient, [very angrily — they bow) For the future be good enough 
to recollect you are now talking to a husband and a father. Her- 
bert, your friends will excuse you to attend to your family duties, 
come with me. (Herbert turns towards Worthington) Herbert, 
come to the baby instantly. (Mrs. Marchmont exit indignantly 
into house, L.) 

March. You villains, you've done it ! 

Brunt. Done what ? 

March. Why, done me. [aside] She'll not let me go out for the 
next six months. 

Brunt. Upon my life, we are exceedingly sorry at this malapro- 
pos introduction. Listeners never hear any good — it was her fault. 
So the late dashing dragoon has turned nursemaid, there is no 
denying that, now ! 

March. But I do most emphatically deny it. It is all very well 
for you fellows to stand grinning there ; you are not domesticated 
as I am, you have no charming young wife, and a twelvemonth 
fledgling to look after. That's just her way, she knows the stern 
obstinacy of my disposition in all matters connubial, when we are 
alone, I mean, and, having had a tiff this morning, she takes 
advantage of the presence of others to make me look small. Why, 
Blue Beard himself never was half the Turk I am. 

Mrs. M. {calling) Herbert ! 

March. Yes, my dear. Ha, ha! me carry the baby indeed! 

Mrs. M. {calling a little louder} Do you hear me ? 

March. Yes darling ! It is a devilish good joke — ha, ha ! 

Mrs. M. {much louder) Herbert, come instantly, sir! 

March. Coming, my pet. (Worthington and Brunt laugh — 
Marchmont exit into house, l. ) 

Brunt. That is where the joke comes in. 

Worth. What a change ! 

Brunt. A change indeed, and an exceedingly awkward intro- 
duction. (Worthington sits on seat, r., Brunt on chair, r. c.) 

Worth. You are right — I suppose we shall never be forgiven. I 
had no idea that a woman could make such a fool of a man. I'd 
see any female hanged 

Brunt. Do not complete the sentence, it is not gallant ; besides, 
my boy, there is nothing new in it — we have all said the same 
thing, yet when the time comes you will be as great a donkey as 
the rest ; for I do not believe there is a man living, with a heart in 
his bosom, who has not been made a fool of by a woman, at least 
once in his life. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. \J 

Worth. Well, perhaps you are right — it cannot last long, 

Brunt. I agree with you in that ; it cannot, especially with a 
fellow like Herbert. It is always dangerous interfering between 
man and wife ; but, in this case, we will venture a mild emetic at 
first — it will be far better than his receiving a dose in time ; that 
may wreck his future happiness and present love. 

Worth. How is it to be adminstered ? She really is very pretty. 

Brunt. Exactly, there is the danger. Your ugly ones sometimes 
are bad enough, but these pretty creatures, treat us lords of 
creation like so many teetotums. Herbert gives way to her as to 
a spoilt child. Let us try and shame him out of it. The rest of 
our party are not far off— we'll bring them here, [both rise) 

Worth. You cannot do that — the etiquette of society 

Brunt. Etiquette of fiddle-de-dee ! Act first, and then apologise 
after— that is what I do, when I knock a man down for insulting 
me. 

Worth. Allons, then — may the Fates be propitious ! 

Brunt. The Fates ? The physic, you mean. 

(exeunt, laughing, R. n. E.) 

Enter Jam es Banks from house, looking after them. 

Banks, {imitating them) Ha, ha, ha ! I shouldn't wonder if 
those chaps ain't a laughing at I, 'cos master made a flying gar- 
dener of me just now ; they're of the same imperant breed as that 
flunkey chap — I can see that with half a eye, and have come a 
conspirating down here. Let me catch 'em at any of their Lun- 
non tricks — I'll thump their heads. 

Enter Sally from house. 

Sally. Pray whose head are you going to thump, James? 

Banks. Everybody's! I tell 'ee what it is, Sally ; there's a 
dreadful conspiracy going on — it warn't for nothing else as my 
nose itched yesterday ; what do you think it betokened ? 

Sally. That it wanted scratching, I should say. What is a con- 
spiracy ? 

Banks, (confused) Well, lass, a con-spi-racy is — is — don't'ee 
know that? Thou'rt .very ignorant, Sally. A con-spi-racy — I 
thought any fool knowed that a con-spi-racy is — is a conspiracy. 

Sally. Thank you ; any woman could have given the same ex- 
planation ; but is it anything very dreadful ? 

Banks. It's worse nor dreadful — it's awful. It's a gun-powder 
plot got up by a lot of fine folks, and a chap called Guy Fawkes 
— he wer an Irishman, and a dealer in lucifer matches. 

Sally. What do they want to conspiracy master for? 

Banks. Why, they 're conspiring against master and missus's hap- 
piness, just like that tiger chap is a doing against mine : and you 



18 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

like it — you young asparagus, you know you do. If I catches him 

here again (Smart heard singing, " Meet me in the Willow 

Glen.") I'll meet thee, lad — I'll meet thee — let me get at him! 

Enter Smart, r. u. e., Sally holding James back. 

Smart. Hilloa, my bold cultivator of greens and radishes, 
what's the row ? 

Banks. I'll let thee know, my Jack-a-dandy, if thee calls me 
names, (is held back by Sally) 

Smart. As a gentleman, I apologises — it's away we have in the 
army. 

Banks. Is it? Then it's a darned bad way ! Are you a sharp- 
shooter ? 

Smart. I flatters myself I is — where the ladies are concerned. 
Few can withstand the 6o-pounders I shoots from my heyes ; I'm 
a regular Armstrong in that line, (winking at Sally) 

Banks. Are you ? then just practise on another target or you'll 
find, I'm a regular Armstrong in this line, (sparring.) 

Smart. A bruiser and a wit! I apologises. Don't excite your- 
self. Although a soldier, fighting is not in my line. I'm like 
my guv'nor — I belongs to the Guards, and prides myself on orna- 
ment, and not use. 

Banks. You looks iike one o' them ; there's a main sight o' your 
sort, in the soldier line — what do you want here ? 

Smart. I have brought a note, to invite Captain Herbert March- 
mont to the squire's, and to tell him, the whole party are following 
at my heels to fetch him. (offering letter) 

Banks. I told you there's a gunpowder plot. I shouldn't wonder, 
if that letter ain't a young lucifer in disguise. (Sally is about to 
take it) Don't 'ee touch it, lass, it'll gooff I tell 'ee — I smell 
the brimstone; get out, yer young Guy Fawkes. (threatening him; 
laughter heard without) 

Smart. It is all your fault, I am too late, here they come. 

Enter Dr. Brunt and Mrs. Brunt, Lieut. Worthington and 
Miss Smeaton, Captain and Mrs. Poppet. 

Mrs. B. What a delightful place — love in a cottage, without the 
cold mutton. 

Brunt. With turnips of their own growing. 

Banks. Here be a precious gang of them. 

Clara. Well, it really is a very charming retreat ! 

Mrs. P. Delightful! just the place to pass one's honeymoon. 

Poppet. Honey, nonsense ! that is the only moon you women 
think of. 

Mrs. B. And very proper too; for it is the most interesting one 
to us. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 19 

Worth. Well Smart, have you delivered the letter? 

Smart. No Lieutenant, the servant here refuses to take it, and 
calls me '* Guy Fawkes." 

Worth. Confound the fellow, what does he mean ? 

Mrs. B. What an odd looking man — what is it — surely not a 
footman ? 

Smart. No, madam, it's a antedeluvian gardener! 

Banks. What is that he calls me Sally, an ante what? 

Sally. I don't know, something in the vegetable line. 

Brunt. Where is your master? 

March, {heard without, L.) Quite right, my dear, I will care. 

Banks. Here he comes like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Brunt. To your hiding places — if his wife is not with him, 
down upon him like an avalanche, {they all retire, Dr. Brunt 
and Mrs.B. r. i e. Worthington and Clara l. 3 e. Captain 
and Mrs. Poppet r. u. e. Smart behind angle of home. Banks 
and Sally l., leaning against each other in fear) 

Banks. Do you hear that Sally, they're going to avalanche him. 

Sally. Oh catch me, James, I'm a going. (Herbert March- 
mo nt enters laden with dog and toys, blowing child 's trumpet, and 
wheeling perambulator, as he reaches C. all the characters advance, 
commencing with Mr. and Mrs. Brunt; one after the other laughing 
heartily, finishing with Smart, who receives a blow from Banks 
which sends him rolling on the stage. The drop quickly descends 
amidst general laughter. 

end of act first. 



ACT If. 

Scene. An elegant drawing-room ; f replace R. 3 E..- doorL.; French 
Windows, C. opening on lawn; chess table up stage, R.; writing 
materials on the table l. up stage; sofa R. and large ottoman 
L. f - shawl discovered on chair. 

Enter James Banks, door l., dressed as a footman, looking and 
walking very awkwardly. 

Banks. They have made a footman of me at last — shades of my 
'orticultural hancestors, what would they say could they see me 
now ! I am the fust of my race disgracing myself by wearing sich 
a uniform. I wouldn't have done it if it had not been for master, 
missus do worry him so. She be a rum un 1 must say, though we 
sprouted under the same roof. 



20 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Enter S ALLY, from door, L. 

Sally, {laughing) Ha, ha ! Well, you do look a fright, I never 
thought you would have been so easily talked over ; missus dis- 
charged Robert the other day, at a minute's warning — she should 
have been made to suffer. 

Banks. Faithless Sally, what did I not suffer with that man? 
You knows what I catch* d you doing ! 

Sally. He only kissed me ! 

Banks. Only ! and ain't that enough ; don't you know it be a 
burglary for any man to steal a kiss from a woman, and she is 
guilty of manslaughter for allowing it ? 

Sally. Well James, it is very pleasant manslaughter — he said my 
lips were honey, and he'd like to taste it. 

Banks. And to the comb he came and stole its sweetness — I 
see'd him do it. 

Sally. The queen bee offered no objection. 

Banks. But the king bee did, and stung him for his pains; I 
knock'd him down. 

Sally. You did, and blackened his pretty eye. 

Banks. I glories in it ; he'll be ashamed to look at the girls for a 
month, I warrant me. 

Enter SMART, R. C. 

Smart. The governor at home ? {sees James) Ha, ha! here's a 
transmogrification — a pair of plush carnations out of cabbage 
stalks and high-lows. 

Banks. You are about the sarsiest young chap as ever I came 
across. What do you want here again ? 

Smart. I want to see your master, after which I shall take my 
leave, {sings) " With a heart bowed down by weight of woe," &c. 

Banks. Here my chirruper, here's a farthing, just move on to 
the next street. 

Smart. The man who has not music in his soul 

Banks. Has oft times plenty o'brass in his pockets, lad. 

Smart. The poetic soul can feed on air. 

Banks. Can it ? I prefers beans and bacon, an' plenty on 'ern. 

Smart. Love is poetry, and what is poetry without love ? {sigh- 
ing and looking at Sally). 

Sally. Oh dear, I wish he wouldn't, {aside) 

Banks. Poetry ain't fattening, and neither life nor love ain't much 
without brass now-a-days. 

March, (without) Yes, my dear, very well. 

Banks. Here comes master, come along Sally. 

Smart. " Fare-thee-well, and if for ever," &c. {sings operatic ally; 
Sally and Smart embrace as James turns up stage, he separates 
them, at length James pushes Sally out, exclaiming 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 21 

Banks. No thee, don't. I'll be hanged for woman slaughter one 
o* these days — thou shameless cockatrice, get out with thee. 

(exeunt C. 

Enter Marchmont, l. 

March. Well Smart how is /our master ? 

Smart, [saluting a la militaire) I can confidently assert, sir, 
his health at the present moment, is tip top ; here is a letter, sir. 

March, [reading it aside') An invitation to Squire Beech's this 
evening — an apology for the denouement of yesterday, and a posi- 
tive threat, unless I follow the letter in half an hour, to storm my 
fortress again. What the deuce shall I do, the Doctor and Worth- 
ington are not to be trifled with ; at any rate I must put them off 
until I have seen my wife, [writes) Here Smart, give this note to 
your master. 

Smart. Yes, sir. I'll present arms in five minutes. 

[salutes and exit L. C. 

Mrs. Marchmont enters at same time, door l. 

Mrs. M. Herbert, dear, who is that — a messenger from the 
people at the hall ? 

March, [going to her and leading to sofa, R.) Yes my love. 

Mrs M. I thought so. I knew they wanted to ruin your domes- 
tic habits, and lead you astray, after all the trouble I have had ; 
cover up my feet, dear. 

March. Yes, my darling, {gets shawl and inadvertently covers 
face, speaking aside at same time) How shall I break it to her ? 

Mrs. M. Herbert, Herbert ! you are smothering me. 

March. A thousand pardons — I was thinking 

Mrs. M. Not of me, that is very certain. I really was very 
angry, at the dreadful fright those wicked people gave me and 
baby yesterday ; my nerves have hardly recovered from the shock 
yet. [he is sitting r.) Herbert place a chair at my side, to hold my 
smelling-bottle and fan. 

March, [doing so, and aside) Telling her is quite as bad as plung- 
\\.<y into a cold bath. 

Mrs. M. Oh, Herbert, dear, you have not half covered up your 
wife's tootseys. 

March, [covering them again, aside) I emphatically say bother 
her tootseys. [returning to ottoman L.) 

Mrs. M. Why do you go over there ? Come and sit at my side. 

March, [doing so) I must break it somehow. 

Mrs. M. [giving a slight scream) My fan ! my beautiful fan ! 
and my smelling-bottle! You clumsy boy, why don't you take 
care ? 

March. Oh, bother ! 



22 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Mrs. M. Oh, he is swearing, how dreadful ! And calls his wife 
a bother ! 

Maich. No, no, dear, I meant I was a bother — you were a 
bother — I mean I'm bothered altogether — [slight pause) I have 
not breathed the fresh air for an age. 

Mrs. M. What a fib ! do you not go out shooting, and disturbing 
your wife at eight o'clock in the morning? 

March. 1 mean the fresh night air of the morning, — no, no, I 
mean morning air of the night — the evening, you know, [she looks 
at him, and he, con fused, turns away.) 

Mrs. M. It is not proper a married man should, my love — 
married men should give up going out after dusk, except on special 
occasions. I could not endure the evening unless you stayed at 
home to read to me — besides, the night air would bring on your 
toothache again. 

March. No, dear, it would not ; I filled the cavity with gutta 
percha yesterday — it is marvellous the good it has done me. Sup- 
pose I go out for a little while this evening? 

Mrs. M. I understand — you had better apply to the Divorce 
Court at once — you have grown tired of me — go, go — leave me, in 
my weak state, to the care of menials — 

March, [rising) Confound it! 

Mrs. M. You did swear that time — it really is too dreadful ! 
[crying hysterically) 

March. I did not mean it, I assure you I did not ; there, let me 
have a kiss, and we'll make it up. 

Mrs. M. No, Herbert, no — you shall never kiss me again. 
[resisting) 

March. Don't cry like that, my darling; there, there, I will stay 
at home. 

Mrs. M. [instantly ceasing, and looking at kim, smiling) Then 
you may kiss me, dear. 

March, [aside) It is no use — I give it up, booked again. When 
I married there was no mistake about my being taken in and done 
for. 

Mrs. M. It is very little sacrifice I ever ask of you — I thought 
you could not deny me, for few wives are so unselfish as I am. »' 

March. Eh! [turning with surprise) Yes, exactly, [recollecting 
himself) You are quite right, dear, very few. [aside) I hope I may 
be forgiven, [aloud) I must now be candid with you. I never 
have objected to receive any of your particular circle of friends in 
my house, I must now ask you to return the compliment. What- 
ever these people are in your estimation, I once belonged to their 
set— they were, and are my friends ; they have resolved to pay 
me a visit if I am not on the road in half-an-hour ; the time has 
nearly expired, and nothing is left but for you to receive them like 
a kind, good little wife ! 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 23 

Mrs. M. It is very provoking. 

March. It is, dear — I am burning with indignation at their com- 
ing. 

Mrs. M. Are you ? you do not look like it, Herbert ! 

March. No, but I am, inwardly — inwardly, I am burning. 

Mrs. M. Well, they may come this once. 

March. There is a darling. 

Mrs. M And now take me for a walk across the garden, it may 
give me an appetite, {putting shawl on her shoulders) 

March. Certainly, I hope it may. Did 'em consent to my hav- 
ing a few friends ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, but don't 'em be a naughty boy, &c, &c. 

(exeunt R. C. 

Enter James Banks, l. d. 

Banks. Here, Sally, Sally ! drat the wench, where is she ! Here 
are all the conspirators in a drove in the hall. Sally ! 

Enter SALLY, l. C. 

Sally. Is the house on fire, James ? 

Banks. No ; but where be master and mistress ? 

Sally. They are wheedling each other in the garden. Master, 
I suppose, for once, has got his own way, and it's such a novelty 
he is a little beside himself. 

Banks. Here they are, Guy Fawkes and all — here'll be fine doings. 
The most rakishish lot of folks I ever see'd. Let us go and fetch 
poor master and missus, like lambs to the slaughter. 

(exeunt, R. C. 

Enter, l. d., Lieutenant Worthington and Miss Clara Smea- 
ton, who pass over, R., Dr. and Mrs. Brunt, Captain and 
Mrs. Poppet. 

Brunt. Singular kind of servant that, directing us to enter this 
room. Where the deuce is he ? 

Mrs. P. Really, a very charming retreat — just the kind of place 
th.it I and Poppet intend to 

Poppet. Nothing of the sort, I never ''intend to" again— it is 
quite enough to make a fool of one's self once in a life-time. Ah ! 
yes, indeed ! Humbug ! 

Mrs. P. My dear, do let me finish a sentence. 

Poppet. No right to begin one, your periods are too long. 
Women never understand the full stop. No, indeed, bah ! 

Brunt. Come, come, cease sharpshooting, or I shall have four 
patients instead of two, that will never do. {all sit — Mrs. and Dr. 
Brunt, l., Captain andNlYLS. Poppet at chess table, Lieutenant 
Worthington and Miss Smeaton, r.) 



24 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Mrs. B. I should think not, indeed. This really appears to be a 
desperate case, and if my dear old boy effects a cure, we will 
institute a new degree, P. E. M. F., " Physician Extraordinary to 
Matrimonial Fledglings," and he shall be the first professor. 

Brunt. Ha, ha, ha ! Really a great creature, my wife ! 

Worth. She is a pattern for the age. 

Mrs. B. You are right, and a tolerably large one. You have 
not to look twice to see me. 

Worth. Doctor, it is about three o'clock, I hear Marchmont 
dines early, we may as well stay if he asks us — Miss Clara here is 
dying with hunger. 

Clara. What a fib ! I declare I never spoke. 

Brunt. The lieutenant does not want you to speak — he reads 
your eyes. 

Poppet. Does he? Then, without being personal, he reads a 
three volume sensational romance at a glance — passion, sentiment, 
vanity, flirtation, jealousy, love and folly, all lying within the 
depths of a woman's eyes. 

Brunt. Right, Poppet, there is some truth in what you say. 
Euclid hath no problem half so difficult. 

Mrs. B. Of course you men will agree. As for the captain, sup- 
pose, dears, as he flatters himself he is so very learned in our sex, 
we enrol an Amazonian Volunteer Corps, like the King of 
Dahomey, and he shall command us. 

Poppet. I would sooner command a brigade of Sandwich 
Islanders — the only consolation certainly would be, women might 
the more easily be got rid of. Ah, yes — bah ! 

Mrs. B. How so pray ? 

Poppet. Why, I'd encamp you on the Desert of Sahara, in total 
seclusion from the masculine gender. You would fall out in a day, 
revolt in a week, and exterminate each other in less than a month. 

Mrs. B. Mrs. Poppet, you punish him when you get him home, 
teaze him for the next week, and run up an enormous milliner's 
bill — that is my revenge, is it not, dear. 

Brunt. It is, and well I know it. 

Mrs. B. I would soon teach him his duty. 

Poppet. Teach an old soldier his duty ? Ah, no — bah ! 

Mrs. B. Yes, and make a greater fool of him than a young sol- 
dier. Now don't look grim — I can stand your fire, captain, and 
return it with interest. 

Poppet. You are right, madam — you can stand a volley — your 
magazine never lacks powder and shot. 

Mrs. B. No, and never will, captain, until it ceases for ever ; 
then you can assist at &feu de joie over my grave. 

Brunt. My wife is getting on too grave a subject, {looking off, 
R.) Here are our friends, {all rise and get towards R., Mrs. 
Brunt up stage) 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 25 

Enter Herbert and Mrs. Marchmont, c. 

March. My dear friends, how do you do ? I am delighted to see 
you. One moment until I have taken my wife to a seat — I shall 
then have the pleasure of introducing you. (Mrs. Marchmont 
sits on ottoman, L.) Dr. Brunt, Captain and Mrs. Poppet. 

Brunt. I am glad to see you, madam. Allow me to offer an 
apology for the freedom I was guilty of yesterday ; also for 
storming your house in this way, but we are very old friends of 
your husband's and in the country we don't stand upon much cer- 
emony, {retires) 

March. Mr. Worthington, and Miss Clara Smeaton. 

Worth. I am equally bound to offer my apologies, and to ex- 
press the pleasure I feel at this introduction. 

Brunt. Here is my wife, Herbert, as saucy as ever. (Mrs. 
Brunt advances) 

March. Ah, Mrs. Brunt, how do you do ? This is a pleasure in- 
deed, [shaking hands heartily) 

Mrs. M. [after coughing several times) Herbert, Herbert! 

March, {recollecting himself ) I beg your pardon, my dear. My 
wife, Mrs. Brunt, {stands at her side.) 

Mrs. B. Delighted to see you, madam ; and, as for you, my gay 
captain, you know I always liked you. {bringing him C.) My old 
boy used to be jealous, for upon my life a little flirtation with you 
occasionally, was very refreshing. No fear now, eh ? 

Mrs. M. {sitting up with surprise) My dear, you never told me 
of this before. 

March, {confused) Eh — no — exactly — yes, my love, it is just one 
of those little matters which husbands frequently forget to tell 
their wives, {aside to Mrs. Brunt) Let us drop the subject. 

Mrs. B. Or Mrs. Marchmont will drop you, eh? I understand 
— a little of the green eyed monster. 

Mrs. M. Herbert, you forget yourself, {he retires) Ladies and 
gentlemen, you will excuse my rising. I am pleased to welcome 
my husband's old. friends — pray be seated. 

Poppet. I will make an attack on the chess table again if you 
will allow me. 

March. Certainly. 

Poppet. Mrs. Poppet, right about face — quick march ! {they sit 
at table) 

Mrs. B. And so, my dear Mrs. Marchmont, you are not very 
well? 

Mrs. M. No, I suffer terribly. I always feel so very ennuied. 

Mrs. B. Poor creature ! Doctor, what do you prescribe ? 

Brunt. I must study the patient's case. Any pain, madam? 
{sitting on chair, l. of Mrs. Marchmont.) 

Mrs. M. Oh, dear! yes, very much. 

Brunt. Ah, that is very bad indeed — where ? 



26 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Mrs. M. Everywhere, {indignantly.) 

Brunt. That is worse — a cough, madam ? 

Mrs. M. Oh, distressing, [coughing) particularly at night. 

Brunt. There certainly is a grave tone about that cough — palpi- 
tation of the heart ? 

Mrs. M. Every morning. 

Brunt. Sickness ? 

Mrs. M. Every afternoon. 

Brunt. Headache ? 

Mrs. M. Always. {louder than before) 

Poppet, {phiying) Humbug! {all start round) I beg pardon — 
my wife was making a noodle of herself, {they dispute about a 
move) 

Brunt. I say, Poppet, be good enough not to interrupt with your 
expletives again, they are rather awkward. (/^ Mrs. Marchmont) 
Then it seems, madam, each particular part of the day has its 
particular suffering ? Very distressing. 

Ladies. Very distressing. 

Poppet. Oh, gammon ! {all turn) Beg pardon — it is Mrs. Poppet 
again. Why don't you, madam, look after your pawn ? 

March. I wish you would be quiet, Poppet, and go on with your 
game. You are staying at Squire Beech's? I suppose you have a 
merry time of it, Mrs. Brunt ? 

Mrs. B. Merry ? I should think so. Up at six o'clock hay mak- 
ing, breakfast at eight, a gallop after, luncheon at two, and plenty 
of it, archery, reading or love making to follow, dinner at six, des- 
sert after, cards and dancing, billiards or backgammon, coffee, 
supper at twelve, cigars and pipes and a little brandy and water 
to send us comfortably to bed. 

Mrs. M. {in amazement) Good gracious! Cigars and pipes — 
what, the ladies ! 

Mrs. B. No, of course not — the gentlemen, my dear ; we leave 
the monsters to it. I do not aspire to Manillas, or cigarettes yet ; 
but my old boy here, he smokes like a furnace. 

Mrs. M. {aside) What dreadful creatures to trust my innocent 
darling with. 

March. Will you honour us by staying to dinner ? 

Mrs. B. To be sure we will. You will pardon my saying it, as 
we are very old friends — but we came on purpose. 

Brunt. You hear, Herbert, my wife is a great creature. 

Mrs. B. You mean a hungry creature — that I certainly am. 
Enter James Banks, l. d. 

Banks. Beg pardon, but cook wants to know if the dinner is to 
be spoilt — it be precious near it, I can tell 'ee, sir. 

March, {rising) Certainly not. James, you are a great deal more 
useful than polite. What do you say, Florence — shall we go? 

(exit James. 



S3. 

s 

si 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 27 

Mrs M. Yes, but your friends will please to make some allow- 
ance at our being unprepared for their reception, [all rise except 
Mr and Mrs .Poppet) The ladies can unrobe m the ante-room. 
(Herbert tsjust offering his arm to Mrs. Brunt) Herbert, my 

l0 MkrT r Ce r r n tainly. [to Mrs. Brunt) Excuse me-I know it is 
nofSe fashion ?or a Yellow to look after his own wife, and on this 

^mTbTyou cannot even follow the fashion, and look after' ^ 
somebody else's. 

March. Have a little mercy. . 

Mrs B Who ever heard of a woman having mercy, where 
one of her own sex is the obstacle? You ought to know our I 
nature better 

March. Well then, for my sake ! ■ 

Mrs. B. Ah, that is more likely ; our weakness lies in that 

d Mrs!°M. Herbert, when you have quite done talking I ask for 

your arm 

Mrs. B. Hark to the bugle call ! 

March. No, 'tis the reveille. It wakes me to my duty. 

Mrs. B. Now, doctor, give me your arm 

Brunt. Certainly, my dear, on we march to 

Mrs. B. Glory 

March. No, not glory, it is boiled mutton and capers. 
Marcn. ino, & y, ^.^ Mrs MarchM0NT( l . 

Brunt Come, Poppet. The castle is in danger, knock it down 
wifh your que^n ; Mrs. P. the knights are hungry. As for our 
yW friends there, they can live upon love-I never did see such 
billers and cooers. ^ ^ ^ ^^ ^ .^ L 

Mrs P Ah, Poppet, just as we were, when we loved, h>e-— 
Poppet! \ooih advancing) Fools! bah, humbug ! left face Mrs 

P., dinners ready, mutton ^d capers-very good-chaige! 

(takes loner quick strides and partially drags her off L. MRS. P. run 

^fXontl life, they are a very odd couple-what an 
example for us, Clara ; does it not frighten you? 

QaL Not in the least. Although I am young, have a^ll of 
my own, and intend to assert it if necessary ; when women are 
weak, husbands get foolish and forget themselves-— 

' [walking up and down together 

Worth. Bravo! you ladies are all fond of building castles of 

prerogative before marriage ■ _ 

P Clara. I suppose, you think, only to lose them after- n m> case 
that has to be proved. But I sincerely hope we shall cause no 
misunderstanding between Captain Machmont and his wife. 



28 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

the C sw a ee t r ien ^^ '° that »»«». °- Otters are ,o folfow 

aid the plot against Marchmont be wanted to 

Clara What is it? Oh, do tell me ! 

exc^h^doclo^f ^&j£?JE^ "? « * *- 
and we think he has bwn ^ 

will be easily a little overcome X ^ hlS marria ge, he 

Clara. Oh, how dreadful ' 

e ff macurl ery ^'^ but the d °«°r says it is necessary to 
Enter James Banks, l 

qufctfor LT^etXhl 66 " antS any dinnCT >'° U ' d ^.ter be 

Worth. In that case, let us <^o 

w -k ' v" not , luin g'T. but allons 

an^ti-te Y0Ung lad,eS " eVer are ' « is ■«* «* vulgar folks to have 

Banks. Ecod, is it ? then th^ K« o ; n i , (exeunt L. 

world, and I'm'abou ZV^—tt'olV^ ? • "'^ f ° lks in '' 
got one. That old Doctor and Mrs n„ ? <L' C , 0S ' ve ahva y s 
vulgar ones too, for I left them a ni7c'hfn/ f r ' ^ S amon S st the 
was short, and they'd mike them'ost onft. ° ^ mUtt ° n aS * ,ife 
Enter Sally, l. 

Ub^oteckTrSuy ^ y ° U - y ° U Sl " U,d »<* *W left the 

thirty dge.-'ljwn^ TS,?*-'* "T^ W. 

longer afore him. Ma ter sends ni e he'^/VT 6 ?" m>Self anv 

man y ' " ' qU " e Certam > mes . you will never make a foot. 

^t-The^is'thTben 6 t0 ~ rVe * S ° U ' ab °- plush-(**) 

? a " ks - ' hears it. (sitting) 

Sally. Why don't you go? (bell\ 

Banks. No, no, that Lunnon chap mun finish the job now. 

Enter Smart, l 
Smart. I say cauliflower. I'm doing all your work for you. 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 29 

Banks. Be you lad ? I'm happy to hear it-thou can go on an' 

(bell) , „ 

(putting legs on chair) 

at ^oi^srjm ner 1 ^ow («, 

^SmallsMAKT ««/ JAMES **V«J ■***•*«"* "*"> 

Ai B^ U 5SSS !? r^A'SSSi he ouite welcome, 
or anybodv else ; 1 can do nought and do .t well. 
Enter Mrs. Brunt, Mrs. Poppet, M:ss Clara, and Mrs. 
Marchmont, l. 
Mrs B The servants are taking it easy at any r ate ; , 

all the ladies seat themselves) 
Banks. I'm going, missus. 

Smart, (aside) What, insult a hosifer ! it's lucky he's beneath 
-^'(t CO T^a-ry strange servant of yours, Mr, 
M Mrs h M 0n \u) He has been in our familysince he «»"**. and 

"ffi^ ServantslrlTgreat bother, you must find it very awk- 
Wa Mrs M Oh, dreadful! would you believe it, the other day I 
^s r^fDearreriwonder, my love, you did not make 
"UrM" 1 ^ dTd^ink^t it, bu, there-was no one thereto 
catch me. 



30 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Mrs. B. And how did you recover from the shock ? 

Mrs. M. I really don't know, for it was actually a beggar 

All. Good gracious ! 

Mrs. P. Was it a man ? 

Mrs. M. Yes, dear, a full grown one — and men are such horrid 
creatures. 

Mrs. B. So they are, yet I should like to know what we poor 
women would do without them— depend upon it, with those ladies 
who run down the male sex— grapes are sour. 

Clara, (r.) Yet it does not do to let them know we think highly 
of them. 

Mrs. P. My dear Miss Clara, recollect, if you please, we are 
married ladies, and speak from experience ; you are not yet en- 
titled to give an opinion. 

Mrs. B. Nonsense, Clara is a sensible girl, men are conceited 
enough in all conscience. 

Mrs. P.] 
and \ {together) In that we perfectly agree my dear. 

Mrs. M. ) 

Mrs. B. Especially where ladies are concerned. Now you, Mrs. 
Marchmont, have a husband any woman might feel proud of. 

Mrs. M. Yes, he is very well now, but I have had a deal of 
trouble with him ; he was inclined to be very wild 

Mrs. B. I have known him for some years, and do not believe 
he was worse than other young men, and not half so bad as 
many. I would not give a rush for the best man that ever walked, 
if he had not a little life in him. I hate your milk sops, they 
are mostly either fools or rogues. 

Mrs. M. I do hope, madam, you will not corrupt my Herbert, 
with your doctrines. 

Mrs. B. You think him cured ? 

Mrs. M. Think! I'm sure of it. 

Mrs. B. Never a leetle late at nights? 

Mrs. M. Never, he never has the latch key. 

Mrs. P. Never a little bit cross? 

Mrs. M. Never; I never allow him to be. 

Mrs. B. Never a leetle too much wine ? 

Mrs. M. My dear, madam, he never touches above two glasses. 
(Herbert heard singing "Here's a health to the ladies, God bless 
them!" &>c,, the ladies rise except Mrs. Marchmont) 

Clara. The gentlemen are merry. 

Mrs. B. Who was that singing, I do believe it was your hus- 
band. 

Mrs. M. Impossible, he never sings. (Herbert sings again) 

Mrs. B. That was his voice. 

Mrs. M. I believe, Mrs. Brunt, it is my privilege to know best. 
Herbert's voice is 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 31 

Mrs. B. A little more liquid than usual that is all ; they are com- 
ing this way. 

Enter Herbert Marchmont, half intoxicated, with Dr. Brunt, 
Lieut. Worthington, and Captain Poppet, l. 

March, (r. c.) That's capital, delightful. Ha, ha! {laughing, 
but seeing his wife, stops quickly) The ladies, I have no hesitation 
in saying— bless 'em ! 

Mrs. M. What is the matter Herbert? how strange you look ! 

March. It's nothing dear, a touch of the toothache — that's all, 
my love. 

Brunt, (l.) Well, ladies, I suppose you have been talking 
scandal. 

Clara, (r.) And what have you been talking? 

Poppet, (r. C.) Politics, my dear, the state of the nation. 

March. Which accounts for our present state of elevation. 

Mrs. M. (anxiously) Are you ill Herbert ? 

March. Very, dear, I've a sad complaint, we must have that 
bow window altered, I have been sitting near it, and the sun has 
been too strong for my delicate constitution. 

Brunt. Herbert is quite right, it is an attack of alcholicania ; I 
prescribe some good old port, administered in infinitesimal doses. 

March. That's it, alco-hol-oh-hol — exactly, you know, only large 
doses doctor. James, James. 

Enter James Banks, l. 

A bottle of port wine. 

Mrs. M. Oh, James, your master is so excited, and so ill. 

Banks. Is he missus ? (aside) By gum ! I'd only like to have 
half his complaint. (exit, l. 

Mrs. M. (suspiciously) Herbert, you are not yourself. 

March. No dear, I'm somebody else, it's the winestroke — I mean 
sunstroke — the ladies, bless 'em ! 

Mrs. M. Oh, misery ! I see it all, he is intoxicated, (crying and 
sinking into chair) 

March. No dear, it's the doctor, he is intoxicated — bring the 
remedy — another bottle of wine. 

Mrs. M. (starting up) You shall not have a drop, sir. 

March. Am I the master of my own house? Are you a lord of 
the creation, or am I a lord of the creation I should like to 
know? I'll have a dozen bottles (Mrs. M. screams) a thousand 
bottles, (she screams) a million, billion, trillion bottles, (louder) 
We'll have a jolly night. 

Enter James Banks, l., with bottle on tray. 

Mrs. M. James, put your master to bed. 



32 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

March. If he does {seizes bottle) I'll blow his brains out ! {gen- 
eral confusion) 

Banks, (l. ) Keep him off, keep him off, I'm murdered! 

Brunt, (l. C. ) I'm astonished ! 

Mrs. B. (l. c.) I'm delighted ! 

Mrs. M. I'm dying ! [faulting in a chair, L.) 

March, (c.) I'm drunk! {picture) 

END OF ACT SECOND. 



ACT III. 



Same scene. Fire alight. 

Enter from R. c. James Banks, Lieut. Worthington, Dr. Brunt 
and Mrs. Brunt. 

Mrs. B. (c.) A fire such weather as this? 

Banks, (l.) Missus will have it, she be a chilly mortal! 

Brunt, (l. C.) So your master has been doing penance for the 
last week, I hear ? 

Banks. I don't know, sir, aught about that ; but he has been 
dandling after missus worse nor ever — she would not let him go 
out this morning, then he got in a bit of a passion, an' I heer'd 
him say to hisself, he shouldn't stand it much longer. 

Mrs. B. Oh, you heard him say that, James ? 

Banks. Yes marm, with my own ears, and nobody else's. 

Worth. That is good news, doctor. 

Brunt. Yes, that sounds well — our scheme will succeed, or I'm 
very much mistaken. 

Enter Sally, l. d. 

Sally. James, mistress has sent me {seeing company) Oh, I beg 
pardon 

Brunt. Not at all, you may be of use to us, you are both old ser- 
vants, I believe ? 

Sally. Yes, sir, we are both old servants — I have been in 
missus's family almost ever since I was born. 

Banks. An' so have I, long afore then. 

Brunt. There is little fear of your being discharged. 

Mrs. B. {seated) Recollect, we do not wish to inspire any feelings 
of disresprect towards either your master or mistress. We are 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 33 

obliged to ask for your aid, and trust to your good sense not to 
take advantage. 

Banks, {aside) I say, Sally, they be enlisting us in their gun- 
powder plot, [aloud) What do you want us to do ? None of your 
Lunnon tricks, thou know'st. 

Brunt. No, no ; the facts are simply these : we think it prob- 
able, by pursuing the present ill-advised course, your mistress 
may destroy her own happiness, and that of your master ; for 
both of whom we have very great respect. What we require 
you to do is this, at a certain time — probably to-day, if I can 
arrange to bring your master to the same mind — you must both be 
taken ill, and the cook, she must be ill. 

James. What — we be all on us to be ill ! 

Mrs. B. All! 

Banks. All ! Are you going to give us any o* your physic to 
make us so ? 

Brunt. Certainly not — you must be ill and do nothing. 

Banks. Aye, by gum ! that's just the sort o' illness I likes. 

Sally. Yes, and so do I. 

Banks. We prides ourselves there ain't a young man, or 
young woman in these parts as can do nought, and do it better 
nor we can. 

Brunt. Very well, you will receive further instructions from me, 
after I have seen your master. Mind what I have said, and you 
shall receive five pounds each. 

(Worthington is seated r., Mrs. Brunt, r. c. 

Banks, [aside] Five pounds! A fortune, for us, wench; we'll 
get wed. 

Sally. So we will, we'll live independent, and keep a public 
house. 

Banks. That will be grand — you shall sarve the customers, an' 
I'll drink the beer. Come along, let us go and do nought. 

Sally. Yes, we'll make haste about it. (exeunt l. d. 

Worth. Doctor, is it not rather singular that a girl, the daughter 
of a manufacturer, should become so spoilt, by apeing the worst 
follies of her more patrician brother and sisterhood ? 

Brunt, [seated on ottoman) My dear boy, you area young fel- 
Low, associating much with the world, and ought to have learnt, 
'ere this, we are all too liable to copy the vices — and not the vir- 
tues, of our betters. 

Worth. True enough — but how could Herbert's wife become so 
initiated ? 

Brunt. Through the foolish pride of her parents, I suppose ; who, 
born and educated in humble life, sought to atone for their ignor- 
ance, in the ill-directed education of their daughter — like many 
other girls, she was sent up to London, introduced into a fashion- 
able circle by those who, rich in blood, but poor in pocket, fawned 
upon her father's wealth — read fashionable novels, married a 



34 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

fashionable man, and had never troubled herself to examine 
beneath the surface of all this. By indulgencies from her "child- 
hood, her every desire has been a seeming divine law and like so 
many true young hearts, an otherwise sensible mind has been thus 
prostrated, and the true soul of womanhood crushed within a nar- 
row cycle of prettiness, selfishness, and vanity. 

Mrs. B. Pluto risen from the grave, as sure as I am a woman ! 

Enter Herbert Marchmont, l. d. 

March. I am very glad to see you again. I have invited you, 
but really I dread to think what my wife will say when she sees 
you. 

Brunt, {both sit on oitofnan) Excuse me, but I say bother your 
wife. 

March. My dear fellow she really bothers me. Ever since that 
little escapade I have had to eat humble pie. Look at my waist- 
coat — I do believe I am getting thinner every day. 

Mrs. B. No wonder — the pie is indigestible, don't swallow any 
more. 

Brunt. Have a pie of your own, with a good hard crust, and see 
how she likes it. 

March. Come, this is too bad — you would make me turn con- 
spirator. 

Mrs. B. We would make a man of you again. When are you 
coming to Oak Hall ? 

March. I cannot tell ; I fear my wife will not let me visit you at 
all. 

Mrs. B. [mockingly) Won't she let her little boy out for a walk 
— a pretty little dear? 

March. Hang it — it's cruel to laugh at a poor wretch like that. 
If I kick over the traces, she stops the supplies, and that is very 
awkward ; besides which, although somewhat of a little tyrant, I 
really am very fond of her. 

Mrs. B. That's the worst of it. Now let us come to the point. 
This wife-ruling will not do, although a strong-minded female, I 
object to it. In two years you will be off, like a colt in a hay- 
field. Make a dash now — the affair of the other day will be of 
service to you if it is followed up. You must have an attack of 
ennui, your nerves must be shattered — in truth, the nerves of the 
entire household must give way. Let everybody have a lazy fit, 
shame your wife into a little exertion. She will kill herself with 
doing nothing if you do not. 

March. Kill herself! 

Brunt. Yes, kill herself. How the deuce do you expect any 
young woman, with nothing on earth the matter with her but lazi- 
ness, can exist without exercise ? 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 35 

March. But then, doctor her nerves ? 

Brunt. Her fiddlesticks ! A woman's nerves are as strong as a 
man's, and often stronger. Exercise is what one half my lady 
patients want. If they insist on pills, I give them bread : if 
draughts, coloured water: it serves the imagination, and does no 
harm. Why, two-thirds of us doctors would starve on positive dis- 
ease, whereas we fatten on whims, {all rise) 

Mrs. B. I had not been married a week before I found that out. 

March. In truth I am a little sick of it. Convince me of the 
efficacy of your remedy, and consider me in the leading strings — 

Worth. I hear a footstep coming this way — it may be your wife. 

Brunt. Come along — we will soon convince you. 

Mrs. B. The enemy has surrendered — we'll take him prisoner. 
{they lay hold of his arms) Now left about face — {they do so) quick 
march ! (exeunt, L. c. 

Enter Mrs. Marchmont and Sally, l., the latter carrying fan, 
scent bottle, shawl, and plenty of books. 

Mrs. M. Lead me to the sofa, Sally. 

Sally. Yes, mum — wait until I put down the books, {aside) She 
loads me like an elephant, {drops some of the books) 

Mrs. M. {starting) Oh, you stupid girl ! you will kill me by such 
sudden shocks. You lazy creature, cannot you carry a few books 
without upsetting them ? 

Sally. A few ! {aside) A circulating library ! 

Mrs. M. {walking slowly to couch, r.) Look me out a pretty 
novel, Sally. 

Sally. Here is one "The Hen-pecked Husband." {spitefully, 
aside) That ought to suit her. 

Mrs. M. Yes, that will do. Where is your master? {taking 
book) 

Sally. I don't know, mum. 

Mrs. M. He has surely not gone out. My eyes are so weak — 
he must come and read to me. Sally ! 

Sally, {going each time, and returning) Yes, mum ? 

Mrs. M. Fetch Zelinda to me. 

Sally. Yes, mum. 

Mrs. M. Sally, tell the cook to serve up dinner as soon as possi- 
ble — I am very hungry. 

Sally. Yes, mum. 

Mrs. M. Oh, Sally, {she returns) never mind— that will do. 

Sally, {aside) A pity she could not think of something else. 

(exit. L. 

Mrs M. That stupid girl is sure to make some mistake. She is 
dreadfully lazy — I hate lazy people — how they can be so I am 
sure is a mystery to me. It is very sad to be overcome with ennui 
as I am. I must be very ill, for neither the doctor nor can I dis- 
cover what is the matter. 



36 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Enter Herbert Marchmont, d. l., very pale* holding handker- 
chief to head &*c, lies o?i ottoman, L. 

Mrs. M. [hearing him, but not looking) Is that you, dear ? I wish 
you would fetch Zelinda to me, there is a good boy. ( March- 
mont groans) Good gracious, Herbert! do not make that noise. 
[repeated) Herbert, dear, you quite disturb me. [seeing him) What 
is the matter my dear? Are you ill? 

March. Yes, dear, it is my turn now. I have got it this time. 

Mrs. M. Got it — got what ? 

March. I don't know, it's very bad. 

Mrs. M. Is it in your head ? 

March. My nerves are prostrated from inactivity — it's the tic 
doloreux. 

Mrs. M. Is it inactivity dear? Poor fellow, you shall go out. 

March. Thank you, dear — when ? [half rising) 

Mrs. M. Now, with baby and the perambulator. 

March, [relapsing) Oh, oh, oh! My legs, my legs! 

Mrs. M. What a distressing noise ! Has it attacked ycur 
legs? 

March. Yes, it is in my legs now. 

Mrs. M. But this is very sudden. 

March. Very ; it came on all at once. 

Mrs. M. But we must not both be ill at the same time, or what 
am I to do? 

March. Do for yourself, darling ; that is what I recommend. 

Mrs. M. You know I cannot, in my weak state. I'll ring for 
James, [does so) 

Enter James Banks, l. d., head tied up, night-cap, pale, groan- 
ing, &*c. 

Mrs. M. James, what on earth is the matter with you. 

Banks. I don't know, missus, but I be very bad. [doth groan) 

Mrs. M. You will kill me if you make that noise. James, cover 
up my feet. 

Banks. Yes, missus, [he does so with shawl) 

March. James, cover up my feet. 

Banks. Yes, sir. [does so) Oh, my head, my head! 

Mrs. M. Is it the toothache ? 

Banks. No, missus, worse nor that. 

Mrs. M. The tic doloreux ? 

Banks. Yes, missus, it be the tic tooralloo summat or the other. 

Mrs. M. In your head? 

Banks. Noa, in my legs, missus. 

Mrs. M. Then what have you tied up your head for ? 

Banks. It might come there, missus, if you axes me to do 
ought. 



from one to the 
other each time oj 
being called. ) 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 37 

Mrs. M. What a dreadful situation for me. James, give me my 
Eau de Cologne, {he gives it to her) 

March. James, give me a book. 

Mrs. M. James, give me my handkerchief. 

March. James, give me my handkerchief. 

Banks. Yes, sir. Why, master, you've got it in your hand ! 

March. Blockhead ! do you not see it is in my left hand, and I 
want it in my right ! (James changes it) 

Mrs. M. James, my fan. £*«*•»• ■ , 

March. James, a fan for me. l ikts . // */>/*'» 

Mrs. M. James, quickly-he runs 

March. James, 

Mrs. M. James, 

March. James, scratch my nose. 

Banks. Oh, oh! it's come ! You mun James for yourself now. 
[sinks into chair, C.) Your cruelty has brought it on. Oh, my legs! 
my legs ! 

Mrs. M. Do not be absurd. Go and tell cook to serve up din- 
ner directly — you can be ill after. 

Banks. Nay, missus, I mun be ill before ; my only cure is doing 
nought. 

Mrs. M. Sally, Sally! [rings loudly) 

Enter Sally, very pale, head tied up, and staggering, L. 

What ! has the girl been drinking? 

Sally. No, I'm very ill, missus. 

Mrs. M. You ill too! 

Banks. Nay, we're ill three, and all on us got the same com- 
plaint. 

Mrs. M. If you make that dreadful noise I shall be obliged to 
get up. 

Banks. Doan't 'ee do that missus, you'll hurt yerself, then we 
shall be ill all four, an' you won't be able to nuss us. 

Mrs. M. Where is cook? 

Sally. She is dreadful ill, mam, and gone to bed. 

Mrs. M. Gone to bed, and I'm dying with hunger — where is my 
dinner? 

Sally. Gone among the cinders, mam, and all burnt up. 

Banks. Yes, missus, after I got a snack, all the fat were in the 
fire. 

March. Never mind, dear, we'll have water-gruel all round. 

Mrs. M. [jumping up) I hate water gruel. 

Sally. So do I. 

Banks. Yes, we all hates water-gruel, I prefers beans and bacon, 
an' plenty of it. 

Mrs. M. [walking about in front of stage) Sally, you — you — im- 
pudent girl, go directly and get me something ! 



38 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

Sally. I ain't got strength — I'm going, catch me, James. 

Banks. I'll catch 'ee lass, tumble into my arms, {he holds her 
up) 

Mrs. M. {fanning herself and stamping her foot with passion) 
Such conduct before my face, leave the room you impertinent — 
you lazy creatures. 

Banks. What an unfeelin' missus it is. {rising) Come along 
lass, lean on me. 

Sally. Yes, James, take me away, I shall be dead if I'm not 
alive by to-morrow. . {he leads her off, L. 

Mrs. M. Herbert, Herbert, how can you lie there, do you not 
see the state I am in ? 

March. It appears to be rather a warm state. 

Mrs. M. Why do you not say what is to be done ? 

March. I think you had better follow cook's example, and go to 
bed. 

Mrs. M. How can you talk such nonsense ? I have had noth- 
ing to eat since breakfast and am starving. (Herbert cries out 
with apparent pain and pretends to be very ill, her tnanner changes 
to the greatest anxiety) Oh, my dear, what is the matter ? Oh, my 
poor darling, he is dying ! 

March. Oh, oh, I'm dead — at least I'm dying — water, water! 

Mrs.M. {very frightened) I will fetch you some, my darling, but 
please don t die yet. {runs out, l., very quickly.) 

March, {laughing) Ha, ha ! then the true woman came out — 
bother the artificial one to give me all this trouble ; she has not 
moved so quickly since the last ball she attended. The doctor's 
receipt bids fair for a cure after all — she returns. I must have a re- 
lapse, {whitens face with pozuder puff ) 

Enter Mrs. Marchmont, l., quickly, tuith glass of water. 

Mrs. M. Here is the water, dear. 

March, {taking some) Oh, dear, oh ! I am very ill. 

Mrs. M. {bathes his temples, &*c.) Where is the pain now ? 

March. I feel so faint, if I had but something to eat ! 

Mrs. M. I'll run and get a biscuit. 

March. No, no, a biscuit is of no use, a chop, a chop, I must 
have a chop. 

Mrs. M. But there is no one to cook it. 

March. Cook it yourself, dear — oh, oh ! 

Mrs. M. I never cooked a chop in all my life ! 

March. Then it is about time you learnt, I shall die if you do 
not — oh, oh ! 

Mrs. M. What shall I do? {running about confused ) Herbert, 
darling, shall I try and cook one here? 

March. Cook it anywhere. 

Mrs. M. I will, wait a little, don't be impatient, I'll soon get the 
gridiron, {runs out l. quickly) 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 39 

March. By Jove ! this is a success— a pretty chop I exoect if 

Eadnder'Vl! ? ^ Wa ? k * S m * haLne'ver 2nd if ^ ^ 

n, w /~ ll try and eat the bone f or her sake. 
y^l^t i?With ° Ui) Herbert 'y°« -e not dead yet, are 

Mr arC ™ ^° v! ar : H th0l,ght of the ch °P is keeping me alive 
Mrs. M. (without ) Very well, here I come, (crash) 
March. There you go I should say ' 

M^^ tkmt - ] ? h '. ^ erbert ' l have brok ™ th e Plates. 
March. Never mind, pick up the pieces. 

Ent6r jJfL MARCHM0NT ' l " ^ ^ <*** teWi^ ^/^/, « 
^ ^nw **, ^m?/^ a gridiron and a chop on a plate. 

th^% M * H ° W dreadfulI X clum sy of me to be sure, but I have «r 0t 
the gridiron; now to put the chop on the fire, (does so aldlwk- 

™1^tVL int ° ^ ^ ° K Herbert « the chrphaffafet 

\a^f'- PiCk k ° Ut ' dear ' k wil1 save the expense of pepper 

^utTt^lT gingiH sma// imy ^^^SSSTi 

March. Never mind, accidents will happen ( 7 ^ '^ 
otl^r S sid M e ? D ° y ° U ^ * ^ better turn'the chop over on the 

March. By all means give it a turn » 

Mrs. M It has fallen right into the fire-oh, dear ! oh, dear • 

March. It will only cook more quickly ' 

Mrs. M What a dear good hubby you are, you ought to be verv 
cross, with a stupid awkward little wife. 8 er> 

March. Not when she's trying to do her best 

Mrs M. (attending to chop) The chop is a little black but vou 
will not mind that will you ? I really will learn better how anv 
sensible person would laugh at me ! I who never am sati fied wi "h 

chopisXne ? " P, ' etty CXample ' S6t them - Do ^ u »Atf- 

March. It is about done for, now dear, I think, (she take, it off 
fire and zsbrmgzng it to table, Dr. Brunt, Mrs. Brunt and Smar{ 
all have entered, and stand applauding) ' 

All. Bravo, bravo ! very good indeed 

Mrs. M. (very confused) Oh, my, I shall drop 

Mrs. B. Not the chop (taking it) no child; you have no need 
to; you are something like a wife now. I'll finish your cooking 
(places it on fire) it is not half done yet, and next time my dear Z 
a little pepper and butter to it. y p 

ling me, but doctor do look to my 
11. (the doctor with mock gravity goes 



J?J*A M ' i^TV? f ° r teHin ^ me ' but doct0 '" do look to my 
poor dear husband, he is soil 1 ('*--r--* 



40 NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 

to Marchmont and feels his pulse, ihey look at each other and burst 
out laughing) Then you are not dying after all ? 

March. No, not yet — are you sorry ? 

Mrs, M. Oh, you wicked boy, I'll never forgive you. (half cry- 
ing) 

March. Oh, yes you will, I am quite sure, (going to her) It was 
a ruse adopted from the doctor's advice, to show you how foolish 
you have been in assuming an affectation quite foreign to your 
nature. Consider how soon I must of necessity tire of it, hence- 
forth, let me love the true woman, not grow weary of the artificial 
one. 

Mrs. M. You are quite right, I see it now before it is too late, 
you shall find me a wife worthy of the name. But I was forget- 
ting, my apron 

March. Let it remain, you have not looked so pretty since the 
day we were married. That is better than your wedding dress. 
Smart, rouse up the servants, administer half a pail of water to the 
gardener, and give the cook and housemaid, a tattoo on the tea- 
tray will you ? 

Smart, (aside) Won't I, now for my revenge on cabbage stalks 
and highlows. (aloud) Consider it done, sir. (exit L. 

March. Doctor allow me to thank you. 

Brunt. Do not mention it, I shall pride myself on this cure for 
the rest of my life. 

Mrs. B. And I am proud of you, my dear old boy, for it takes a 
clever man to conquer a woman's whims, (great noise, James cal- 
ling out, crash is heard, Smart runs on, his hat broken and over his 
eyes, J ames follows in a rage and Sally holding him back ; Smart 
runs over to R. calling Help !) 

Banks. Let me get him, a bit of a stuck up Jack-a-dandy — I'll 
let thee know. 

Smart, (looking at his hat which is smashed) Keep him off or 
I'm a dead man, he has ruined my beaver — the over-grown hele- 
phant. 

Brunt, (to Banks) Come, my friend, don't excite yourself or you 
will have a fit, and I shall have to bleed you. 

Banks. Nay doctor, I'll do that for thee — where's the five 
pounds thou promised ? 

Brunt, (giving two notes) There it is, five pounds a-piece. 

Banks, (taking it) Thank 'ee, sir. (pocketing both) 

Sally. James, where is my share : 

Banks. In my pocket, thou'lt be my wife, so we may as well 
begin as we mean to go on. A wife never has nought — what's 
thine is mine, what's mine is my own — that's marriage law. 

Smart. Disgusting mercenarian ! 

Mrs. B. Law indeed, it is one of the wrongs, we poor suffering 
women intend to set right ; but come, they are waiting for us at 
the hall, shall we go? 



NOT SO BAD AFTER ALL. 41 

Mrs. M. Yes, I consent, I shall only be a few minutes — but first, 
I quite forgot my chop {going to it ) it must be done by this time. 

March. If it is, we'll share it with our friends, instead of a wed- 
ding cake ; the bone shall be mounted in silver, and kept under a 
glass case, to remind us of this our second honeymoon. (Mrs. 
Marchmont has taken the gridiron off the fire, and is just removing 
chop when Marchmont stops her. At the same time Lieutenant 
Worthington and Miss Smeaton enter at back, and remain there) 
There is a lovely picture of domestic bliss. 
No matter now, whate'er may befall, 
As a wife she will prove " Not so Bad after All." 

Dr. and Mrs Brunt standi, c, looking on with pleasure, James 
and Sally with amazement at their mistress down l., Smart woe- 
fully looking at his hat down r., Worthington waving his hat 
at back. 



CURTAIN. 




UNCLE TOM'S CABIN (new version.) 

A MELODRAMA IN FIVE ACTS, BY CHAS. TOWN SEND. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Seven male, five female characters (some of the characters play two parts). 
Time of playing, 2% hours. This is a new acting edition of a prime old favorite, 
so simplified in the st^ge-setting as to be easiiy represented by dramatic clubs and 
travelling companies with limited scenery. Uncle Tom's Cabin is a play that never 
grows old ; being pure and faultless, it commands the praise of the pulpit and sup- 
port of the press, while it enlists the favor of all Christians and heads of families. It 
will draw hundreds where other plays draw dozens, and therefore is sure to fill any hal'. 

Synopsis of Incidents: Act I. — Scene I.— The Shelby plantation in Kentucky.— 
George and Eliza. — The curse of Slavery. — The resolve. — Off for Canada. — "I won't 
be taken — I'll die first." — Shelby 2nd Haley. — Uncle Tom and Harry must be sold. — 
The poor mother. — "Sell my boy!" — The faithful slave. Scene II. — Gumption 
Cute. — " By Gum • " — Marks, the lawyer. — A mad Yankee. — George in disguise. — A 
friend in need. — The human bloodhounds. — The escape. — ** Hooray fcr old Var- 
mount ! " 

Act II. — St. Clare's elegant home. — The fretful wife. — The arrival. — Little Eva. — 
Aunt Ophelia and Topsy. — " O, Goll} r ! I'se so wicked ! " — St. Clare's opinion. — 
M Benighted innocence." — The stolen gloves. — Topsy in her glory. 

Act III. — The angel child. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's mischief. — Eva's re- 
quest. — The promise. — pathetic scene. — Death of Eva. — St. Clare's grief. — " For thou 
art gone forever." 

Act IV. — The lonely house. — Tom and St. Clare. — Topsy's keepsake. — Deacon 
Perry and Aunt Ophelia. — Cute on deck. — A distant relative. — The hungry visitor. — 
Chuck full of emptiness." — Cute and the Deaccn. — A row. — A fight. — Topsy to the 
rescue. — St. Clare wounded. — Death of St. Clare. — " Eva — Eva — I am coming " 

Act V. — Legree's plantation on the Red River. — Home again. — Uncle Tom's 
noble heart. — " My soul ain't yours, Mas'r." — Legree'scruel work. — Legree and Cassy. 
— The whiteslave. — A frightened brute. — Legree's fear. — A life of sin. — Marks and 
Cute. — A new scheme. — The dreadful whipping of Uncle Tom. — Legree punished at 
last. — Death of Uncle Tom. — Eva in Heaven. 



THE WOVEN WEB. 



A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS, BY CHAS. TOWN SEND. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 



Seven male, three female characters, viz. : leading and second juvenile men, so- 
ciety villain, walking gentleman, eccentric comedian, old man, low comedian, leading 
juvenile lady, soubretie and old woman. Time of playing, 2%" hours. The Woven Web 
is a flawless drama, pure in thought and action, with excellent characters, and pre- 
senting no difficulties in costumes or scenery. The story is captivating, with a plot 
of the most intense and unflagging interest, rising to a natural climax of wonderful 
power. The wit is bright and sparkling, the action terse, sharp and rapid. In touch- 
ing the great chord of human sympathy, the author has expended that rare skill 
which has given life to every great play known to the stage. This play has been 
produced under the author's management with marked success, and will prove 
an unquestionable attraction wherever presented. 

Synopsis of Incidents: Act I.— Parkhurst & Manning's law office, New York. 
— Tim's opinion. — The young lawyer. — "■ Majah Billy Toby, sah ! " — Love and law. 
— Bright prospects. — Bertha's misfortune. — A false friend. — The will destroyed. — A 
cunning plot. — Weaving the web. — The unseen witness. — The letter. — Accused. — 
Dishonored. 

Act II. — Winter quarters. — Colonel Hastings and Sergeant Tim. — Moses. — A 
message. — Tim on his dignity. — The arrival. — Playing soldier. — The secret. — The 
promise. — Harry in danger. — Love and duty. — The promise kept. — " Saved, at the 
loss of my own honor ! " 

Act III. — Drawing-room at Falconer's. — Reading the news. — "Apply to Judy ! " 
— Louise's romance. — Important news. — Bertha's fears. — Leamington's arrival. — 
Drawing the web. — Threatened. — Plotting. — Harry and Bertha. — A fiendish lie. — Face 
to face.— " Do you know him ? " — Denounced. — "Your life shall be the penalty!" — 
Startling tableau. 

Act IV. — At Uncle Toby's. — A wonderful climate. — An impudent rascal. — A bit 
of history. — Woman's wit. — Toby Indignant. — A quarrel. — Uncle Toby's evidence. — 
Leamington's last trump. — Good news. — Checkmated. — The telegram. — Breaking 
the web.— Sunshine at last. 



'Copies mailed, postpaid, to any address, 0:1 rcce : pt 0/ the annexed prices. ^JE^ 



SAVED FROM THE WRECK. 

A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 
PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female characters : Leading comedy, juvenile man, genteel 
villain, ruugh villain, li^ht comedy, escaped convict, detective, utility, juvenile 
lady, leading comedy lady and old woman. Two interior and one landscape scenes. 
Modern costumes. Time of playing, two hours and a half. The scene of the action 
is laid on the New Jersey coast. The plot is of absorbing interest, the "business" 
effective, and the ingenious contrasts of comic and serious situations present a con- 
tinuous series of surprises for the spectators, whose interest is increasingly maintained 
up to the final tableau. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. The Home of the Light-house Keeper. — An autumn afternoon. — 
The insult. — True to herself. — A fearless heart. —The unwelcome guest. — Only a 
foundling. — An abuse of confidence. — The new partner. — 1 he compact. — The dead 
brought to life. — Saved from the wreck. — Legal advice. — Married for money.— A 
golden chance. — The intercepted letter. — A vision of wealth.— The forgery. — Within 
an inch of his life. — The rescue. — Tableau. 

Act II. Scene as before; time, night. — Dark clouds gathering. — Changing 
the jackets. — Father and son. — On duty. — A struggle for fortune. — Loved for himself. 
— The diviled greenbacks. — The agreement.— An unhappy life. — The detective's mis- 
take. — Arrested. — Mistaken identity. — The likeness again. — On the right track — The 
accident. — "Will she be saved? 11 — Latour's bravery. — A noble sacrifice. — The secret 
meeting. — Another case of mistaken identity. — The murder. — " Who did it ? " — The 
torn cuff. — "There stands the murderer!" — " 'Tis false! 11 — The wrong man mur- 
dered. — Who was the victim? — Tableau. 

Act III. Two Days Later. — Plot and counterplot. — Gentleman and convict. — 
The price of her life. — Some new documents. — The divided banknotes. — Sunshine 
through the clouds. — Prepared for a watery grave — Deadly peril. — Father and daugh- 
ter. — The rising tide. — A life for a signature. — True unto death. — Saved. — The mys- 
tery solved.— Denouement. — Tableau. 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. 

A COMEDY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, BY THOMAS K. SERRANO. 

PRICE, 15 CENTS. 

Eight male, three female, and utility characters: Leading juvenile man, first and 
second walking gentleman, two light comedians (lawyer and foreign adventurer), 
Dutch and Irish character comedians, villain, soldiers ; leading juvenile lady, walk- 
ing lady and comedienne. Three interior scenes ; modern and military costumes. 
Time of playing, two hours and a half. Apart from unusual interest of plot and skill 
of construction, the play affords an opportunity of representing the progress of a 
real battle in the distance (though this is not necessary to the action). The comedy 
business is delicious, if well worked up, and a startling phase of the slavery question 
is sprung upon the audience in the last act. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

Act I. At Fort Lee, on the Hudson.— News from the war.— The meeting. 
— The colonel's strange romance. — Departing for the war. — The intrusted packet. — An 
honest man. — A last request. — Bitter hatred. — The dawn of love. — A northerners 
sympathy for the South. — Is he a traitor ? — Held in trust. — La Creole mine for sale. — 
Financial agents. — A brother's wrong. — An order to cross the enemy's lines. — For- 
tuned fool. — Love's penalty. — Man's independence. — Strange disclosures. — A sha- 
dowed life. — Beggared in pocket, and bankrupt in love. — His last chance. — The re- 
fusal. — Turned from home. — Alone, without a name — Off to the war. — Tableau. 

Act II. On the Battlefield. — An Irishman's philosophy. — Unconscious of 
danger. — Spies in the camp. — The insult. — Risen from the ranks. — The colonel's prej- 
udice. — Letters from home. — The plot to ruin. — A token of love. — True to him. — 
The plotters at work. — Breaking the seals. — The meeting of husband and wife. — A 
forlorn hope. — Doomed as a spy. — A struggle for lost honor. — A soldier's death. — 
Tableau. 

Act III. Eefore Richmond. — The home of Mrs. De Mori. — The two docu- 
ments. — A little misunderstanding. — A deserted wife. — The truth revealed. — Brought 
to light. — Mother and child. — Rowena's sacrifice. — The American Eagle spreads his 
wings. — The spider's web. — True to himself. — The reconciliation. — A long divided 
home reunited. — The close of the war. — Tableau. 

^WCopies mailed, postpaid, to any address^ on receipt of the annexed prices. Ofk 



BY FORCE OF IMPULSE. 

A. Drama in Five Acts, by Pi. V. Vogt. 



Price, 15 Cents. 



Nine male, three female characters, viz.: Leading and Second Juvenile Men, 
Old Man, Genteel Villain, Walking Gentleman, First and Second Light Comedians, 
Heavy Character, Low Comedian, Leading and Second Juvenile Ladies and Comic 
Old Maid. Time of playing, Two hours and a half. 

SYNOPSIS OF EVENTS. 



Act I. Lovk vs. Impulse. — Doller- 
dutch's office. — A fruitless journey, a 
heap of accumulated business and a 
chapter of unparalleled impudence. — 
News from the front. — A poor girl's 
trouble and a lawyer's big heart.— Hil- 
da's sad story.—'" I '11 see this thing 
through if it costs me a fortune I " — A 
sudden departure in search of a clue — 
The meeting of friends. — One of nature's 
noblemen.— Maitland betrays his secret 
by a slip of the tongue. — The ball at 
Beachwood. — Two spooneys.fresh from 
college, lose their heads and their hearts. 
—"Squashed, by Jupiter! '—Trusting 
innocence and polished villainy. — The 
interrupted tryst. — An honest man's 
avowal. — A picture of charming simpli- 
city. — Murdell and Hilda meet face to 
•face. — "I dare you to make another 
victim !" — A scoundrel's discomfiture. — 
Tableau. 

Act II. The Separation. — The Mait- 
laud homestead. — Anastasia's doubts. — 
A warm welcome and its icy reception. 
.—Forebodings and doubts. — Father and 
son. — Searching questions. — A domestic 
storm and a parent's command. — A 
foiled villain's wrath. — Enlisting for the 
war. — The collapse of the cowards. — 
" It 's no use, 'Dolphy, the jig 's up !" — 
Hilda's sympathy and Adrienne's silent 
despair.— The result of impulse. — The 
father pleads for his son. — Anastasia 
and Dollerclutch. — Coriolanus comes to 
grief. — Good and bad news. — Husband 
and wife. — Reginald demands an ex- 
planation. — A hand without a heart. — 
The separation. — A new recruit. — Too 
late ; the roll is signed. — Tableau. 

Act III. Duty vs. Impulse.— Four 
vears later. — A camp in the army. — 



Lo 



nginp 



Only 



miles 



home !' — The skeleton in the closet. — 
A father's yearning for his child. — A 
woman-hater in love. — Dollerclutch's 
dream. — A picture of camp life and fun. 
— Coriolanus has his revenge. — News 
from home. — Dollerclutch makes a big 
find. "Eureka!" — Proofs of Hilda's 
parentage and marriage. — A happy old 



lawyer. — "I '11 take them to Hilda ! " — 
Detailed for duty. — A soldier's tempta- 
tion. — The sentinel deserts hi» post. — 
The snake in the grass. — "At last, I can 
humble his pride ! " 

Act IV. The Reconciliation and 
Sequel. — At Reginald's home. — News 
from the army. — " Grant is not the man 
to acknowledge defeat !" — Adrienne and 
Hilda. — False pride is broken. — The re- 
conciliation. — " Will Reginald forgive 
me?" — Dollerclutch brings joy to Hd- 
dn's heart. — "You are the daughter of 
Morris Maitland !" — The stolen docu- 
ments and the snake in the grass. — 
"Hang me if I don't see this thing 
through !" — A letter to th^ absent one. — 
Face to face. — The barrier of pride 
swept down. — "Reginald, I love you; 
come back!" — The happy reunion.— An 
ominous cloud. — "I have deserted my 
post ; the penalty is death. I must re- 
turn ere my absence is discovered!" — 
The wolf in the sheeptold. — A wily 
tempter foiled. — A villain's rage. — 
" Those words have sealed your doom 1" 
— The murder and the escape. — 
Dollerclutch arrives too late. — The pur- 
suit. 

Act V. Divine Impulse. — In camp. — 
Maitland on duty. — The charge of de- 
sertion and the examination. — "I knew 
not what I did !" — The colonel's lenity. — 
Disgrace. — News of Adrienne's murder 
is Drought to camp. — Circumstantial 
evidence fastens the murder upon Reg- 
inald. — The court-martial. — Convicted 
and sentenced to be shot. — Preparations 
for the execution. — • God knows I am 
innocent! " — Dollerclutch arrives in the 
nick of time. — "If you shoot that man 
you commit murder!" — The beginning 
of the end. — "Adrienne lives!" — A vil- 
lain's terror. — Adrienne appears on the 
scene. — " There is the attempted assas- 
sin !" — Divine impulse. — The reward of 
innocence and the punishment of vil- 
lainy. — Good news. — " Hurrah, the war 
is over; Lee has surrendered to Grant ! ' 
— The happy denouement andjina/e.- • 
Tableau. 



Copies mailed, post-paid, to any address on receipt of the advertised price. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 

O MURRAY ST„ BiEW YORK. 



NEW ENTERTAINMENTS. 

THE JAPANESE WEDDING. 

A costume pantomime representation of the Wedding Ceremony in Japanese high life. 
The company consists of the bride and groom, their parents, six bridesmaids, and 
the officiating personage appropriately called the w Go-between." There arc 
various formalities, including salaams, tea-drinking, eating rice-cakes, and giving 
presents. No words are spoken. The ceremony (which occupies about 50 
minutes), with the "tea-room," fills out an evening well, though music and other 
attractions may be added. Can be represented by young ladies alone, if preferred. 
Price, 25 Cents. 

AN EVENING WITH PICKWICK. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces the Pickwick Club, 
the Wardles of Dingley Dell, the Fat Boy, Alfred Jingle, Mrs. Leo Hunter, Lord 
Mutanhed and Count Smorltork, Arabella Allen and Lob Allen, Bob Sawyer, Mrs. 
and Master Bardell, Mrs. Cluppins. Mr«. Weller, Stiggins, Tony Weller, Sam 
Wcller, and the Lady Traveller. Price, 25 cents. 

AN EVENING WITH COPPERFIELD. 

A Literary and Dramatic Dickens Entertainment. — Introduces Mrs. Copperfield, 
I <avie, the Peggotys, the Murdstones, Mrs. Gummidge, Little Em'ly, Barkis, 
Betsey Trotwood, Mr. Dick and his kite, Steerforth, the Creakles, Traddles, 
Rosa Dartle, Miss Mowcher, Uriah Heep and his Mother, the Micawbers, Dora 
and Gyp, and the wooden-legged Gatekeeper. Price, 25 cents. 
These "Evenings with Dickens " can be represented in whole or in part, require 
but little memorizing, do not demand experienced actors, are not troublesome to pre- 
pare, and are suitable for performance either on the platform or in the drawing room. 

THE GYPSIES' FESTIVAL. 

A Musical Entertainment for Young People. Introduces the Gypsy Queen, Fortune 
Teller, Yankee Peddler, and a Chorus of Gypsies, of any desired number. The 
scene is supposed to be a Gypsy Camp. The costumes are very pretty, but 
simple ; the dialogue bright ; the music easy and tuneful ; and the drill movements 
and calisthenics are graceful. Few properties and no set scenery required, so 
that the entertainment can be represented on any platform. Price, 25 cents. 

THE COURT OF KING CHRISTMAS. 

A CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENT. The action takes place in Santa Claus 
land on Christmas eve, and represents the bustling preparations of St. Nick and 
his attendant worthies for the gratification of all children the next day. The cast 
may include as many as 36 characters, though fewer will answer, and the enter- 
tainment represented on a platform, without troublesome properties. The cos- 
tumes are simple, the incidental music and drill movements graceful and easily 
managed, the dialogue uncommonly good, and the whole thing quite above the 
average. A representation of this entertainment will cause the young folks, from 
six to sixty, fairly to turn themselves inside out with delight, and, at the same 
time, enforce the important moral of Peace and Good Will. Price, 25 cents. 
RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

ILLUSTRATED TABLEAUX FOR AMATEURS. A new series of Tableaux 
I7r'fl«^, by Martha C. Wei.d. In this series each description is accompanied 
with a full-page illustration of the scene to be represented. 
PART I.-MISCELLANEOUS TABLEAUX.-Contains General Introduction, 

12 Tableaux and 14 Illustrations. Price, 25 Cents. 
PART II.— MISCELLANEOUS TABLEAUX.-Contains Introduction, 12 Ta- 
bleaux and 12 illustrations. Price, 25 Cents. 

SAVED FROM THE WRECK. A drama in three acts. Eight male, three 
female characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES. A comedy-drama in three acts. Eight male, three 
female characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

BY FORCE OF IMPULSE. A drama in five acts. Nine male, three female 
characters. Time, two hours and a half. Price, 15 Cents. 

A LESSON IN ELEGANCE. A comedy in one act. Four female characters. 
Time, thirty minutes. Price, 15 Cents. 

WANTED, A CONFIDENTIAL CLERK. A farce in one act. Six male 
characters. Time, thirty minutes. Price, 15 Cents. 

SECOND SIGHT. A farcical comedy in one act. Four male, one female charac- 
ter. Time, one hour. Price, 15 Cents. 

THE TRIPLE 'WEDDING. A drama in three acts. Four male, four female 
characters. Time, one hour and a quarter. Price, 15 cents. 
%*B~ Any 0/ the above will be sent by )>tail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt 

0/ the annexed prices. _J£j 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 9 Murray St., New York. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



HELMER' 

ACTOR'S MAKE-L 

A. Praetiin! and Systetnatic Guide to the Art 




013 742~331 5 § 



PRICE, 25 CENTS. 



With exhaustive treatment on the Use of Theatrical 
Wigs and Beards, The Make-up and its requisite materials, the 
different features and their management, typical character 
Masks, etc. With Special Hints to Ladies. Designed for the 
use of Actors and Amateurs, and for both Ladies and Gentle- 
men. Copiously Illustrated. 

CONTENTS. 

I. Theatrical Wigs. — The Style and Form of Theatrical Wigs 
and Beards. The Color and Shading of Theatrical Wigs and Beards. 
Directions for Measuring the Head. To put on a Wig properly. 

II. Theatrical Beards. — How to fashion a Beard out of crepe 
hair. How to make Beards of Wool. The growth of Beard simu- 
lated. 

III. The Make-up — A successful Character Mask, and how to 
make it. Perspiration during performance, how removed. 

IV. The Make-up Box.— Grease Paints. Grease paints in 
sticks; Flesh Cream; Face Powder; How to use face powder as a 
liquid cream ; The various shades of face powder. Water Cos- 
snetique. Nose Putty. Court Plaster. Cocoa Butter. Cr&pe Hair 
and Prepared Wool. Grenadine. Dorin's Rouge. "Old Man's" 
Rouge. "Juvenile" Rouge. Spirit Gum. Email Noir. Bear's 
Grease. Eyebrow Pencils. Artist's Stomps. Powder Puffs. Hares* 
Peet. Camels'-hair Brushes. 

V. The Features and their Treatment. — The Eyes : blind- 
ness. The Eyelids. The Eyebrows : How to paint out an eyebrow or 
moustache ; 11 ow to paste on eyebrows ; How to regulate bushy eye- 
brows. The Eyelashes : To alter the appearance of the eyes. The 
Ears. The Nose : A Roman nose; How to use the nose putty; A 
pug nose ; An African nose ; a large nose apparently reduced in size. 
The Mouth and Lips : a juvenile mouth ; an old mouth ; a sensuous 
mouth ; a satirical mouth ; a one-sided mouth ; a merry mouth ; A 
sullen mouth. The Teeth. The Neck, Arms, Hands and Finger- 
nails : Fingernails lengthened. Wrinkles: Friendliness and Sullen* 
ness indicated by wrinkles. Shading. A Starving character. A 
Cut in the Face. A Thin Face Made Fleshy. 

VI. Typical Character Masks. — The Make-up for Youth : 
Dimpled cheeks* Manhood. Middle Age. Making up as a Drunk- 
ard : One method ; another method. Old Age. Negroes. Moors. 
Chinese. King Lear, Shylock. Macbeth. Richelieu. Statuary. 
Clowns. 

VII. Special Hints to Ladies. — The Make-up. Theatrical 
Wigs and Hair Goods. 

Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of the price. 

HAROLD ROORBACH, Publisher, 

9 Murray Street, New York. 



